First and Last and Always
by Sybil Rowan
Summary: *COMPLETE* 004x002, Jet is a delinquent from a wealthy family. His favorite teacher dies and is replaced by a mysterious man. He tries to find out more about Heinrich while grieving. He ends up in danger from a 'vampire hunter' named Van Bogart.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** First and Last and Always

**Author:** Sybil Rowan

**Pairing(s)/Characters:** 002x004/ everyone is used in this story in a fun way.

**Rating:** M

**Summary:** Jet is a delinquent from a wealthy Manhattan family. His favorite teacher at his exclusive school dies and is replaced by a mysterious German man. He tries to find out more about Heinrich while grieving. He ends up in danger from a 'hunter' named Van Bogart.

**Warnings:** Alternative Universe (they aren't cyborgs), sexual situations, violence, under age drinking, and bad language.

**Author's Notes: This one will be posted in pieces rather than complete. Don't worry... I'm going at a good pace and will have it done by June 4, 2009. **This romance was inspired by Mik Link's art piece entitled_ Vampire_, Franz Ferdinand's song _Dark of the Matinée_, and Chelsea Quinn Yarborough' _Count Saint Germain_ novels. Count Saint Germain vampires are slightly different. This should help if you aren't familiar with those novels: they must have their native soil in their shoes to move about during the daytime in shade, they control certain animals by telepathy, they have protean (melt into the ground), they aren't visible in mirrors, they retain every wound they died with but regenerate any wound they receive after they turn, it takes about five or more times that they have 'relations' with someone before that person turns into a vampire, the person doesn't instantly become a vampire... they live out the rest of their lives and rise as a vampires AFTER they die. Also, the vampire has empathy and will adapt their emotional state to their 'victims/ partners.' An example is that fear in a victim can put a vampire into a vicious blood thirsty rage; lust in a victim can create affection and loyalty.

**Disclaimer:** Cyborg 009 is owned by Shotaro Ishinomori. Count Saint Germain is owned by Chelsea Quinn Yarborough. This story is named after one of my favorite Sister's of Mercy song.

**Beta Reader: **My darling Beta, WingedPanther73. Thank you so much!!! I love you!

**Date:** May 16, 2009 (4:40pm)

**Word Count: **extended

Part One:

"I can't believe this! The third time this month you've cut class!" Gilmore pounded his hand on the manila folder on his desk. Jet didn't even flinch, he kept scowling while his eyes were fixed on the name plate that read _Doctor Isaac Gilmore, Headmaster_. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I was going to flunk Mr. Chang's test anyway. I figured I'd make better use of my time."

"Why didn't you study? He would have put you in Calculus II this year, but your apathy was the reason he's held you back."

"I hate math," Jet mumbled lowly.

"But you have such talent! You're flunking Mr. Chang, Mr. Dwambee, and Mr. Gamo's classes. You're only carrying a satisfactory grade in Mr. Britain's class. I suspect that's because you have him charmed with your sense of humor. Your Senior year is turning out to be an abysmal failure and it's only November 2nd! Don't you want to graduate in 2009 with your friends? You need to refocus. You'll be eighteen in exactly three more months so there is a large shift you need to make towards responsible behavior by then."

"I'm passing Coach Geronimo's class."

"Physical fitness doesn't count! Even though you and Mr. Shimamura certainly have brought this institution many honors with track and field competition, it doesn't excuse your disregard for this school. When your parents get back..."

Jet made a tisking noise and rolled his eyes. "I don't even know where they are."

"Mr. Link, please don't interrupt! When your parents get back from Italy next month, we'll discus your declining grades and your habitual truancy."

"Fine..."

"You know, I understand that Miss Cathy's sudden passing has not been easy on you. That's why I haven't been as hard on you as I really should, but this behavior has to stop."

"Are you finished?" Jet snarled, leaping out of his chair.

"No. I'm telling you that I hired a new foreign language instructor."

"What! Another one! But it's only been a month!"

"I'll expect you to treat this man with respect and _not_, I repeat _not_, chase him off like all the substitutes. Now hurry along. Mr. Dwambee is expecting you. And straighten out your school uniform; you look like a bum and not a Saint Ann's student."

Jet bolted from Headmaster Gilmore's office and down the wide hallways. He quickly marched to his locker and started dialing his combination.

"Take another 'vacation day' without asking?"

Jet swirled around to see Joe Shimamura, smirking at him. His best friend was half-Japanese, half-American; his family owned several profitable electronics businesses. Jet shot him a dirty look and turned back to his locker.

"How was Chang's test?"

"Horrible, as usual. Frances thought it was easy, but she studied with her little brother." Joe went over to his locker, which was seven spaces down. "You know if you cut one more time, you'll be off the track team."

"I know... I know... Did Coach Geronimo say anything?"

"You know him. He didn't say anything directly, per se, but he implied that I should talk to you about reorganizing your priories. His words, not mine. Afternoon practice is canceled, by the way."

"Good. I've got something I want to do after school."

"Make up Chang's test?"

"Hell no! I'm flunking his class anyway. I mean... I like Mr. Chang, but I'm tired of all this Saint Ann's Academy bull shit. I'm ready to find my way in life and experience it first hand."

"Oh... you act like you are such an old man sometimes. You still have college ahead of you." A soft, girl's voice with a heavy French accent interrupted. Joe put his arm around Frances Arnoul after she walked over to him.

Jet rolled his eyes at Joe's girlfriend; she always was giving him lectures on moral behavior. Especially since Miss Cathy had died last month. Jet knew it was Frances' way of trying to support him, but it only made him want to ditch school all the more.

"It's nothing but a noose around my neck. I can't breath in this school."

"We better get to Mr. Dwambee's class or you'll be in more trouble." Joe headed down the hall. The three of them made their way through the crowded hallway in silence. Finally, Joe spoke up. Jet could tell Joe was uncomfortable when he asked, "Did you hear about the new language professor?"

"Yeah... I heard. What's this one like?" Jet asked, not bothering to keep nasty, bitterness from his voice.

"Ivan had him earlier," Frances said, waving at her adoptive, younger brother across the crowded hallway. The Freshman pushed his glasses up in front of his heterochromatic eyes and flawlessly threaded through the crowd in spite of having his nose buried in a some Senior's Chemistry book.

Jet watched him flip the pages with blinding speed; it was nothing new. Jet would have been amazed to see Ivan not reading. He admitted the kid was a little spooky, but seemed nice enough. Joe always gave Frances, Ivan, and Jet rides home so Jet always got stuck sitting beside the kid. He used to tease Ivan, but the kid was way too clever to get caught up in any of Jet's gags.

"Ivan, what's the new foreign language instructor like?"Joe asked.

Ivan looked up and had an expression of deep concentration. "Strict. Straightforward. Intelligent with a very dry wit. Take a sweater to class. He keeps the temperature around 63 degrees."

"Is that all?" Jet scoffed and glared down at the frail Freshman. Ivan fixed him with a severe look; that one blue eye, one brown eye still unnerved Jet from time to time.

"No, he smells like dirt and wears gloves all the time." Ivan turned and walked down the hallway towards Mr. Chang's class. Jet glowered and turned to Frances.

"You need to have your parents take him to a shrink. He gets weirder every day."

She glowered back; Joe tugged them both by the elbows to Mr. Dwambee's classroom. It was an airy, sunlit room, with lots of maps and African tribal antiques lining the walls.

"Ah, Mr. Link! You'll be joining us today? How wonderful for you! We'll be continuing our discussion on the Second World War today. If that's okay by you?" Pyunma Dwambee, Saint Ann's history instructor, shouted from the front of the room. The handsome, ebony-skinned man from South Africa enjoyed using embarrassment to enforce good behavior.

The other students giggled, bringing a flush to Jet's cheeks. He shrugged off Joe's arm and slouched in his desk. Mr. Dwambee snickered with the rest of the students, leaned against the edged of his desk, and cleared his throat. Everyone settled in and got ready to take notes.

"Okay... now we were talking about the insidious ways the Nazis would experiment on people. In particular, the infamous Dr. Joseph Mengele and his twin experiments. Not to startle you, Miss. Arnoul, but your little brother would be given maybe an extra couple of weeks because Mengele also choose people who were hetrochromatic for his experiments. It's a rare condition, but it intrigued the man."

"It's horrible. Ivan was just born that way," Frances said. Jet start sketching random patterns in the margin of his history book.

"But let me tell you, the most barbaric part was the experimentation that went on_ after_ people were dead. They would take hair off of the dead to use as insulation for U-boats. They tried rendering the fat to make soap and... yes, they would take the skin and try to use it as well." Pyunma Dwambee crossed his arms and furrowed his brow.

Jet set aside his pencil and payed more attention. Mr. Dwambee would tell more morbid stories from history right before a test. Jet admitted these stories were the only reason him kept going to Pyunma Dwambee's class rather than skip it more often. It was like keeping eyes locked on a bad traffic accident.

"So the Nazis would actually 'harvest' people?" Frances asked, her face puckered.

"No, certainly not. It could buy you some of that precious time before going to the gas chamber if you volunteered to be a _Sonderkommando_. The Jewish men were the ones who were forced to drop the gas and take apart the bodies for use. It was gruesome, but you would have four... maybe six... months extra to live. Then they were the ones who would go to the chambers and a new set of _Sonderkommandos_ chosen."

"Who would choose to do that for just four extra months of life?" Frances burst out, getting emotional.

Pyunma Dwambee nodded and sighed, "It was all about trying to get extra time in hopes that the Nazis would exhaust themselves."

"Even so... what kind of person would want to live on after they've done such a horrible thing to their fellow humans?" she persisted.

Jet perked up when Dwambee didn't answer right away. The man was staring out of the window, looking very troubled. It was several long minutes before he said, "We never know what we're capable of until we're put in that situation. Okay, here's the topics for your test tomorrow..."

Jet started to wonder the same thing Frances had; what kind of man would want to live on after that.

* * *

Jet paused before the door of the foreign languages classroom. Joe and Frances were so deep in their conversation they didn't notice Jet wasn't walking with them. Jet couldn't help but think of Miss Cathy's smiling face before he stepped into the room; she had done so much to keep him on the right path.

She convinced him to try out for the track team and apply for college. She had also kept him from heavy drinking by himself in the Links' posh, penthouse; his parents were gone so frequently that he had no one to be accountable to except her. Now that she was gone, there were no more controls on his behavior. He considered her the only parent he had ever had, now he felt like an orphan.

"Jet! Come on," Joe called out. Jet shook off his memories and worries. He stepped into the classroom and looked over at the man at the blackboard; he was writing some German irregular verbs in chalk. He was a couple inches shorter than Jet, but well-built. He had gray hair, but looked no older than thirty. The man wore tinted glasses, and true to what Ivan had said, he was wearing black leather gloves.

The room was cold and dim, the shades were drawn. No more bright posters lined the brick walls anymore. The room wasn't the same when Cathy was here. He resented the intruding stranger. He fixed his hostile eyes on the new instructor. The man paused and looked at Jet through those blue, tinted glasses.

"Please take your seat. It's time to start." The man turned back to his verb list. Jet went to the desk next to Joe and flopped down. Frances and Joe were already scribbling the verbs down for different reasons.

Frances was a neurotic, but good student; Joe was abysmal at any language outside his mother's native English and his father's native Japanese. Jet didn't bother. He never had a problem in this class; his mind usually absorbed foreign languages on one hearing. That's why he stood out to Cathy.

"Good afternoon. My name is Herr Heinrich. I'm Saint Ann's new foeign language instructor. Let's get started right away. The German verbs on the board are all irregular and all..."

Jet tuned out what the man said and flopped his head back in quiet rebellion. He drifted into a light doze. Suddenly, a darker, iciness fell over him just before he fell into actual sleep. An overpowering grassy odor jolted him upright. Mr. Heinrich was now standing over him with a stern expression. Everyone in the classroom was looking at them.

"I would appreciate your attention, Mr. Link. You may be confident in your previous knowledge, but we're about to move into a very tricky area."

"Wake me up when you get to something interesting, Herr Heinrich," Jet blurted out in German before he could even think. A sour expression crossed the man's face; Jet wished he could take it back, but he was committed to a snotty attitude now. He crossed his arms and sunk lower in his seat. He was dismayed to see both Frances and Joe shoot him dirty looks.

"Please remain after class." Mr. Heinrich replied in German, turned, and went back to the blackboard. Jet hunched over his desk in irritation directed at the new instructor.

Soon the new instructor dismissed the class. Jet remained sitting until the classroom was empty of other students. He walked over to Cathy's old desk and waited while the man wiped the board clean.

"I've got English next. _Macbeth_ and all." Jet spoke up first when the man was silent for a whole minute, just wiping the board.

"Mr. Britain knew I was going to have a small talk with you after class."

"So it was an ambush?" Now Jet wished he would have said something more biting and foul if he was going to have to stay after any way.

"He suggested it."

"Wonderful," Jet muttered. Heinrich sat down and took off his glasses. Jet couldn't help but notice the new instructor's bright, blue eyes.

"I understand that Miss Cathy was your favorite teacher and that she really helped direct your life towards a positive direction."

"You don't know anything about her!"

"I know she thought highly of you." Mr. Heinrich held up a folded piece of paper towards Jet. "The letter she wrote for your college application says it all."

Jet snatched it from Heinrich. "That was private! Between me and her! You had no right to rummage through her things and spy on me!"

"My intention was not to offend you, but to go ahead and get the air clear between us before you make some bad choices in my classroom. I expect the same level of work she received. I won't tolerate the same behavior you have demonstrated to the substitute instructors. Your choices are yours. I can't force you into acceptable behavior, but I can remove you from this class for the sake of the other students. That would set back your college aspirations considerably."

"Who says I'm still going?"

"Your choices are yours. I don't really care what you decide about your future if you're apathetic towards it. I do care that the other students have a fair chance."

"Are we finished?"

"I just want to say that it is horrible to lose someone close to you at your age. I'm sorry for your loss."

Jet bolted from the room and jogged towards the English classroom. Everyone was seated while the bald English teacher, Mr. Britain, was doubled over in laughter. Several students were giggling with him.

"Awww... Jet! Now we can start!" he called out enthusiastically. "Back to _Macbeth_! Come on... come on. Your turn, Jet, to recite your lines. Ready?" Mr. Britain flashed him a huge smile.

Jet's mind went blank; then he remembered his assignment to recite the witches' speech for today. "Well, I don't have it memorized."

Britain gave Jet a sharp, disaproving look and tugged Jet over to his desk. "You know I won't have a choice, but to give you a failing grade for the assignment if you don't recite today."

"Wait! I do have something from _Macbeth_. Can I recite that instead?"

Britain slowly nodded and sighed. "It had better be spot on." The English instructor clapped his hands and got the students attention. "Okay... last recitation. Here's Mr. Jet Link about to regale us with... something. Stage is yours."

Jet took a large breath and said, "Act 5, scene 5. Lord Macbeth: _She should have died hereafter; There would have been a tome for such a word. Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools, The way to dusty death. Out bright candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale, Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing._"

The class blinked at Jet and finally, slowly clapped. Britain grabbed Jet's hand and shook it. "You pulled that one out of the fire, but next time stick to the assignment. Okay?"

Jet nodded and took his seat. Mr. Britain got into the piece Jet had just recited and the dissection of the meaning. Just one more hour and he could leave.

* * *

Jet walked into his massive bedroom and flopped down on his bed. He stared up at the ceiling for several long minutes, not aware of anything but his own body. He had never felt so exhausted in his life, but he hadn't done anything except go to school. He didn't even run track. He would have felt more energized after a run.

He rolled over and checked his cell phone. It would be two weeks tomorrow since his parents had spoken to him. He hurled his phone hard against the opposite wall and frowned at the pieces after they bounced on the carpet.

Jet remembered the last face-to-face conversation he'd had with them. At first his parents had given him hollow pity as if he had just lost a pet. Finally, his father had threatened to send him to a psychologist if he didn't snap out of his depression by the time they got back. His mother just sneered and said, 'She was just some teacher, for heaven's sake. Save it for someone who's obituary matters.'

He had wanted to scream at them and tell them how much he hated them. It had always been like that. Appropriate behavior and appearance came first. There was no discussing messy emotions or feelings in the Link household. Instead, you paid someone two-hundred and fifty dollars an hour to listen to personal matters.

He sighed and rolled over on his back. If it hadn't been so sudden, he could have dealt with it better, but it was such a shock. One afternoon in early October Miss Cathy had complained of dizziness; by the following morning she had died of a weakened heart valve. She had only been twenty-eight so Jet hadn't believed Gilmore when he made the announcement.

The thought to drink came to him. He looked over to the stack of books on his desk. The Edwards & Penny Calculus book caused a pang of guilt. The right thing would be to study. He hopped off his bed and tried for about half an hour. His emotions were so churned that studying was useless.

He got up and walked to his parents' entertainment parlor. There he found the dark amber liquid that promised quick release. He promised himself to drink just enough to take the edge off and then get back to studying.

To be continued.


	2. Chapter 2

(By the way... I forgot... Saint Germain type vampires can't cross running water, rivers, either.)

Part Two:

Jet woke up with a massive hangover. His eyes traveled over to his clock; it read 6:45. He bolted upright in a panic. If he slept away the day and got kicked out of Saint Ann's, his parents would murder him when they got back. He looked out his window and realized it was still early morning.

He quickly got showered, dressed, and gathered up his books. Jet ran down the stairs and took the elevator to the ground floor. He stood on the curb, waiting for his ride. He started cramming l'Hopital's rule in his head as Joe pulled up. He got in the backseat with no ceremony.

"What the hell is this thing doing? This is shitty. I can't see it." Jet pounded page 487 of his _Edwards and Penny Calculus _book.

Ivan looked over at the book and shook his head in disdain. "Take the derivatives of the top and the bottom then look at the limits of each. Makes sense now?"

"Oh! I see it! Damn! Why didn't this book just say so. "

"It did."

"One hundred bucks if you go take my test," Jet joked.

"I wouldn't take ten of your toes to take your test. By the way, your breath reeks. You smell like puke and bourbon."

Jet looked at the rear-view mirror where Joe and Frances were giving him disappointed looks. Jet mumbled, "Shut up, Ivan. It's not your business."

The Freshman shrugged and went on reading _Eats, Shoots, and Leaves_ by Lynn Truss. They were all quiet on the way to school. Jet jumped from the car the moment it parked and didn't say any parting words to his friends. He jogged to Mr. Chang's room in spite of his clamminess and nausea.

The plump Chinese man looked up from his desk and gave Jet and scowl. Normally, Mr. Chang was very good natured, but he got irritated when students blew him off. "You've been avoiding me, Mr. Link!"

"I'm sorry. Can I take the test before school starts?"

"I'm deducting a letter grade for your tardiness."

"I'm ready."

Jet took the test and handed it in just as the others were taking their seats. He could barely focus on the test because of his throbbing head. He just hoped he passed. He was in a fog for Mr. Chang's lecture. The next class, Mr. Gamo's chemistry, was also nothing but a blank, as was Dr. Kazumi's philosophy class that was held every Tuesday and Thursday.

Study hall and lunch gave him a chance to recover a little, but he still had a nagging headache during Mr. Pyunma Dwambee's history test. There were three long essay questions on the test. The last one he didn't bother with; it involved something about Otto Von Bismarck and the rise of German nationalism that he just couldn't remember.

He considered skipping the next class, but Joe and Frances finally cornered him and dragged him down the hallway. It was still cool and dim in the sterile room. Mr. Heinrich glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. Jet wondered for a moment if the man knew what he had done last night.

"Every Tuesday afternoon I want you to take the class and write two pieces. One in German, one in Italian. Take the whole class and pick any subject you want. If you have a question, please ask. Go ahead if you have none." Heinrich announced and leaned back in his chair.

Jet couldn't believe his luck. He got out paper and start scribbling a foul tirade about instructors who expected the students to teach themselves. He criticized everything he could think of down to Mr. Heinrich's gloves. Just to be difficult, Jet did every other sentence in German and the following ones in Italian.

As an added finish, he used ever dirty Japanese insult Joe had taught him and wrote it at the bottom of the paper. Fifteen minutes into the class everyone was still struggling, Jet marched up, tossed the paper on Heinrich's desk, and marched back to his seat without glancing at the man.

"Very creative, Mr. Link, but my parents were married and my mother was a human and not a female dog. Plus, let me assure you that I won't eat excrement anytime soon," Heinrich announced across the silent classroom. "By the way, who ever taught you Japanese must be a native speaker. This was flawless." Jet sat upright, amazed the man also knew that language. He looked over at Joe. His best friend now had his head totally turned away.

"I think we need to have another discussion after class."

"Whatever!"

"Okay, everyone, hand in what you have. Dismissed, except for Mr. Link and his clever little essay."

Jet just sat in his desk, arms crossed. Joe gave him a swift kick to the leg on his way out. After the classroom was empty, Mr. Heinrich walked over, holding the piece of paper.

"You said to write whatever we wanted. I did."

"So I must tell you, like a small child, to not use profanity and to make complete German and Italian paragraphs? The other instructors have told me how smart you are; I'm beginning to think they exaggerated your intelligence."

"Fuck you."

"Let's go see Dr. Gilmore." Heinrich jerked his head to the door. Jet followed the German man down the crowded hallways. His face was blazing hot as all the students turned to stare. They made it to Gilmore's office and were let in quickly.

"Oh dear. What brings you here, Mr. Heinrich?"

"Mr. Link's fondness for Japanese and English profanity." Heinrich handed Jet's paper over to the headmaster. Gilmore shook his head at Jet.

"He started it! He called me dumb!" Jet snarled, glaring at the German man.

"I did no such thing. I said I question his intelligence when he wastes his talent like this." Mr. Heinrich countered in a calm voice.

"That's it, Jet! You'll apologize right now and get to Mr. Britain's class!"

"Over my dead body!"

"Then you will write a sincere apology letter before I let you back in this school. Consider yourself suspended otherwise."

Jet felt himself get clammy at the pronouncement. He stood, stiffly turned, and headed towards the front door of the building. He walked home in a daze. By the time he got to his bedroom his hangover had worked itself out. It had left him drained, as did the argument in Gilmore's office.

It wasn't long before he drifted off into deep sleep. Rolling thunder started pressing itself into his awareness. His body temperature gradually climbed to the point where he felt sweat rolling off his back. He jolted awake; his room was totally dark and it was pitch black outside.

He didn't get out of bed to turn on the lights. He glanced over at the glowing digital numbers, 9:43. He tugged off his school uniform and tossed it beside his bed. He sprawled on his back and took deep breaths, gradually he drifted back into a light sleep.

He heard a rustling just under the rolling thunder. Flashes of lightning illuminated his dark room at irregular intervals. His eyes caught a slight, shadowy movement towards his right during a flash. A crack of thunder startled him, he felt his mattress slightly sink by his feet as the shadow moved towards him. His heart furiously pounded. An iciness touched his bare skin; movement was impossible because he felt made of lead.

The word _'Schlaf'_ echoed gently in his head. Jet felt as if he was being pushed downwards into sleep. He fought the sensations for twelve heart beats and then gave into the blissful tingling invading from his right wrist.

* * *

Jet reluctantly woke up; he slid out of his bed and stretched towards the ceiling. He stumbled to the bathroom and hopped into a hot shower. He felt good and well rested. He soaped himself up and paused when he saw a deep, yellowish patch on his right wrist. It felt cold under his fingertips and throbbed, but not painfully. It was actually a pleasant sensation, causing his body to involuntarily tremble when he touched it.

"Damn, I must of fell or something," he mumbled. He shrugged it off and finished getting clean. He threw on sweat clothes; he didn't plan on going to school. He figured he'd write an apology letter when he was good and ready.

As he passed his desk he saw the cream colored letter folded on the desk. He paused and unfurled it.

_Dear Dean Martin,_

_I appreciate your time in reviewing my student's application. As you can see, Jet Link is well qualified for your institution. His talent in foreign languages is outstanding. His grades are superior and he is on the best terms with all the staff and faculty at Saint Ann's Academy. His extracurricular pursuit in track makes him an ideal candidate as well._

Jet tossed the letter aside before he had to read any more. His throat felt tight as tears threatened to break through. Jet had decided he wouldn't give in to tears over Miss Cathy; there were just too many to let go. Besides, his parents had ingrained a fear and loathing of being out of control deep inside of him. He suppressed the urge and walked to his parents' entertainment parlor.

He decided to spend the day drinking and watching _Jerry Springer_, _The Maury Show_, and _COPS_. He looked at the wet bar, but jogged back to his room. It was 5:38 in the morning. He sat at his desk and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. He just couldn't disrespect everything Cathy had done for him.

All he had to do was write an apology and endure the man for the next seven months. It wasn't like he would be chained to Heinrich for the rest of his life. He started writing in German. He threw away his first two attempts and then he let his hand dictate from his heart rather than his brain. It came in scraggly English. He jumped up and got dressed in his school uniform.

* * *

"I appreciate this note, Mr. Link." Heinrich folded the letter and tucked it in his jacket pocket. "I'm satisfied, Dr. Gilmore."

"Good. Now we can put this all behind us. You did the right thing, my boy, and I won't let this get back to your parents. You now have fifteen minutes before you have to get to Mr. Chang's class. By the way, he wasn't pleased with your grade from yesterday's test. Neither was Mr. Dwambee. I suggest you talk to both of them about some extra work you can do over the weekend. They're both amenable to the idea."

"Great..." Jet said, voice drenched in aggravation.

"Now, now. Not one of us wants to see you fail. You should be grateful you have a chance to make things up before midterms."

"Thanks, Dr. Gilmore." Jet said.

He and Mr. Heinrich left the office and started walking down the hallway. The wide windows let in a soft glow along the right side. Jet watched his instructor put on his tinted glasses and walk close to the left wall lined with lockers.

"I know you're not angry with me, just the circumstance that brought me here," Mr. Heinrich said as they walked along. "I hope we can start over."

"Yeah. I'm sorry about everything. Like I said in my note, I just wasn't ready for the change."

"Grief is like an ocean wave. You can't hold it back and you shouldn't try."

Jet about snapped and told the German man to mind his own business, but he took a deep breath instead. "This isn't what Links are supposed to do, admit weakness, but I feel so tired lately. When I woke up this morning, it was the first time I didn't just feel angry. It was like it drained out of me while I was sleeping."

"That's a positive step in the right direction. Hanging onto anger can wear you out. You really need to allow yourself some sorrow so you can move on with your life. You will always feel pain, but the tears do finally come to an end."

Jet paused and turned to Mr. Heinrich. The man leaned in a shaded doorway of the foreign languages classroom, he had an odd half-smile. Jet gradually returned the smile and said, "You really know how I feel, don't you?"

"I lost my wife some time ago."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"I'll see you later." The German man nodded to him and went inside his classroom as the hallway filled up with students.

"Hey! Jet! Where have you been?"

Jet turned to see Joe walking towards him. They started walking towards Mr. Chang's classroom.

"I got into some trouble yesterday, but it's all cool now."

"We got to meet Coach Geronimo after school."

"Cool. I'm up for a run."

"Right..."

* * *

Jet took his position on the track and focused on the finish line. He ignored Joe as the shrill whistle sounded. He launched himself towards his goal. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Joe pour on the speed and pass him. Joe crossed the line first, Jet a few seconds behind. They slowed their pace and walked over to Coach Geronimo; both panting heavy.

"You haven't practiced. It shows," Geronimo said to Jet. The redhead teenager nodded and leaned over, hands on his knees. "You aren't ready for this weekend."

"I know. I'm sorry about that, Coach."

"I'm going to suspend you until after midterms."

"What? You can't do this to me now. Please... I need this."

"What you really need is time to yourself. If it wasn't for your horrible grades, I would keep you on the team."

"This sucks! It's not fair!" Jet said kicking at the ground. The brawny Native American gave him a cross look over his display of temper.

"If your grades improve by January, and I see you've regained your speed, then you can compete again. In the meanwhile, you can still practice with the team."

"What does everyone want from me?" Jet shouted.

"To live up to your potential and take responsibility for yourself. It's the same thing Miss Cathy wanted for you." Coach Geronimo turned towards a group of Sophomores playing soccer in the middle field and walked over towards them.

"Can you believe that?" Jet asked Joe, who sat on the middle of the track. Jet flopped down beside him.

"Yeah, I can. I told you he was thinking about it."

"Running is all I have right now! Damn it! He's being unfair."

"It's not a big deal. All you have to do is make up some work for Dwambee and Chang this weekend. Just keep showing up for practice. If he sees you're working hard, he'll let you back on. Too bad old man Gamo won't let you make up anything. Man, I hate his chemistry class."

"Yeah... you're right. I guess I could use a break," Jet mumbled, drawing his knees up to his chest. He leaned his arms on them and scanned the mostly empty bleachers. Frances and Ivan were there along with half a dozen other people in their clique. Jet's eye were caught by a man in a trench coat and a fedora standing in the shade of a tree beside the bleachers. "Hey! Isn't that Mr. Heinrich bundled up like it's thirty below?"

Joe looked over to the tree and nodded. "Looks like him. He must have thin blood. Can't tell it by how cold he keeps his room. You didn't cuss him out today. What gives?"

"We talked this morning about some stuff. He's pretty cool."

"He's weird. Hey! By the way... I need a huge favor from you?"

"What is it?"

"You know the new girl? Helen?"

"The one who wants to hook up with you, never mind the fact you have a girlfriend? How could I miss her? Every time you turn around, she's there." Jet looked at the top of the bleachers and saw the blond, spiky haired girl sitting alone. Her eyes were fixed on Joe. Jet looked over to Frances and saw her glaring daggers at Helen every few seconds.

"Frances is really riding my ass about Helen, but I don't want to be mean to her. She's really a sweet girl and she's just shy because she's new. I thought you might like to take her out this weekend. We can all go to that new club Frances wants to check out."

"I'm not into clingy girls." Jet said. He turned his eyes back to the tree, but he was mildly annoyed to see Heinrich wasn't there any longer. He had hoped to talk to him some more.

"Come on. She's really cute and she has a nice body. Like I said, she's really sweet."

"Well then... you take her out!"

"Are you kidding! Frances would kill me! Be a pal... I'll pay our way in and get Ivan to help you with Chang's make up assignment. I just need to get Frances to think that Helen and you might be dating. Besides, I think Frances is right. You really need to get a girlfriend. I mean, you've only been out on seven dates over the last two years. Never the same girl twice." Joe glanced around suddenly and leaned over to Jet. He switched to Japanese when he asked, "I mean... how do you get laid when you don't take them out?"

"I do fine," Jet snapped and jumped up. His face was blazing hot; it grew redder when Joe laughed at him.

"Will you please go out with Helen on Friday?" Joe jumped up, hands clasped together.

"Fine! I'll do it 'cause you're my friend. Personally, she's not my type. Keep that in mind when you're forking out money. And the runt comes over on Sunday to help me with Chang's work."

"Deal," Joe mumbled quickly as Frances came jogging over. Helen trailed behind. Jet listened to Joe hammer out the details for the double date on Friday. Frances seemed pleased, Helen seemed pissed. Jet figured it would be miserable, but Joe was too good of a friend to bail on.

To be continued.


	3. Chapter 3

(As you can tell, this story is really taking an uplifting turn. *sarcasm* Just in case you want to know, I got my information from the Holocaust History class I took Summer of 2005. You can get a lot of it on line at the Jewish Virtual Library. I have taken some liberties to fit Albert's part of the story. I hope everyone is enjoying this one. I really love writing it.)

Part Three:

Jet leaned back on the plush couch, Helen slightly shifted away from him. He scanned the crowded dance floor for Joe and Frances again. No luck, they had disappeared fifteen minutes ago after Helen had given Joe a swift kiss on the cheek for bringing her a soft drink.

He looked around the rest of the warehouse-turned-nightclub in boredom. It was packed with people all lost in jubilant activity. Jet used to love clubbing with his friends, but now it seemed like a waste of time. He turned to Helen again and loudly asked, "Do you want to dance?"

She crinkled her pert nose and shook her head. He rolled his eyes and went back to watching the crowd. This was the fifth time he had tried to make friends with Helen. She wasn't rude, but she certainly wasn't interested in him.

Finally he spotted Joe and Frances making out by a pillar. Jet grabbed Helen's hand and yanked her through the crowd towards the couple. Jet smacked Joe's elbow. His friend turned and glared at him.

"Time to go!" Jet shouted over the blaring techno music. Joe smirked, glanced at Frances, and nodded. The four of them left the club and piled in Joe's car, Jet and Helen in the backseat. "Back to my place?"

"You wouldn't mind, would you?" Joe asked.

"Of course not," Jet answered knowing what Joe was implying. The Shimamuras were at home as were the Arnouls. Joe wanted some 'alone time' with Frances. Jet didn't mind loaning out his parents' guestroom for Joe's occasional 'slumber parties' with Frances.

"Hey, Helen, you want to hang out at Jet's place?" Joe asked. Jet didn't miss Frances' glare reflected in the rearview mirror. Jet suppressed his chuckled and looked over at Helen's troubled face. She looked over at Jet and forced a smile.

"Sure. Why not?" Helen slid over beside Jet and grabbed his arm. She picked up his arm and put it around her shoulder. Frances now looked a little more mollified, but Jet didn't like being dragged into a cat fight over Joe.

They got to Jet's place. He put on music and flopped down on the sofa with Helen. Joe and Frances stayed long enough to be polite and then snuck off towards the guestroom. After several long, silent minutes Jet sprang up and went to the wet bar.

"You drink?" he asked Helen.

"I haven't."

"Good time to start." Jet said, fixing two bourbons. He handed her one and sprawled on the carpet at her feet. She looked as if she were about to cry. "Come on. Bottoms up."

Jet hoped to quickly get her tipsy so she would forget her troubles and loosen up a little. He watched her sip at her drink.

"Everyone says you're a big drinker." Helen set aside her drink on an end table.

"Yeah. So?"

"I'm just trying to start a conversation," she huffed.

"Sorry. Usually I talk more."

"This has been horrible. I really want to go home."

"Can't get Joe jealous so you're going to bug out and try again tomorrow?"

Helen was now glowering at Jet as she stood. "I see why most students at the school can't stand you."

Jet rolled over on his back and snickered. "I'm an acquired taste."

"I thought you were a trouble maker, but I see you're just plain boring."

"I'm boring? You're the one pining over Joe while he's in there doing the nasty with his girlfriend. You didn't even really try flirting with me on the car ride home. If you had any spunk in you, you'd be down here on the floor making out with me."

"Why would I do that?" Her voice was shrill and angry.

"Nothing better to do," Jet pointed out and set aside his drink. Helen's scowl melted away to an intense look of concentration. She knelt down beside him and was about to lean over and kiss him. She leaped to her feet and shook her head.

"I just can't!"

"Fine. I'll drive you home. Joe's keys are on the bar." Jet got up and lead Helen outside. He drove her home. No conversation passed between them except for her directions. Jet pulled the car up to an extremely high building.

"Hey, Helen. You seem like a nice girl so I'll tell you how it is. Joe and Frances have been together for a long time so you need to find someone else. They really belong together."

"Like you and a certain teacher?"

Jet's eyes narrowed. "What?" he asked in a low voice.

She smirked and unhooked her seatbelt. "Some of the girls told me how _you're the one _pining over that dead teacher, Miss Cathy. They say you were really screwing her. That's why you won't ask girls out, isn't it?"

"Get out of this car, you dirty bitch!"

Helen jumped out of the car and slammed the door. Jet stomped the gas and peeled away from the curb. He knew a few of the catty girls with crushes on him had talked like that behind his back when Cathy was alive. Helen was the first one with enough temerity to say it to his face.

It wasn't long before he pulled up to the building and parked. He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and took several deep breaths. A small part of what Helen had said was true. Jet had a crush on Cathy back when he was fifteen, but that quickly faded because of his greater need for mentor. He also started noticing boys just as much as girls around the same time.

Jet knew by his seventeenth birthday it was always the forbidden or dangerous that attracted him rather than the safe or normal. He always wanted what he wasn't supposed to have and it kept him in a perpetual state of frustration.

As he walked towards the security door a chill ran through him. Jet paused and looked around. His rage at Helen was dispelled by the sensation of being watched. He shrugged it off and made his way up to his parents' penthouse.

He turned off the lights and left Joe's keys where he had found them. He knew Joe and Frances would leave before he would wake up. He stumbled to his bedroom and shut his door. He rapidly stripped down to his tee-shirt and boxers and turned off the light.

He settled under a thick blanket, but found his mind was too agitated to drift off. There was part of him that had hoped to get some physical gratification. Watching scantily clad people grinding together was what prompted Jet to invite Helen to make out. Even after that fight he was still left lustful.

There was a rustling sound coming from the foot of his bed; he jolted up right. A creeping cold traveled up his legs while his mattress slightly sunk.

"Joe? Frances?" He whispered, feeling aggravation run through him. "Cut it out. You two aren't funny."

Something moved towards him. Drowsiness rolled over him like wave. His skin turned frosty as he laid on his back.

_'Benimm dich,'_ hummed lightly in his ears. _'Beruhigt dich... Beruhigt dich... Beruhigt dich...'_

"What? Behave? Calm down? What's happening to me?" Jet murmured as something climbed beside him.

Movement was elusive and clumsy; his mind grew numb as his unsatisfied desires rose. An odor of cigarettes and earth filled his awareness. He felt a masculine arm slide around his waist, striking a thrill.

Logical train of thought left him when he felt someone nuzzle his neck. For half a second there was a sense of panic, not knowing who this was. The shadowy form shifted and pinned him against the mattress. Jet moved his hands to the shoulders, this person was definitely a man.

A sharp pain in his throat forced a gasped from Jet. A rush of euphoria came over him. Jet wrapped his arms around the man's shoulders; he ground his hips upwards.

"Please... more..." he gasped out as a blissful tingle invaded the right side of throat.

* * *

"Crap!" Jet swore, jolting upright. The late morning light flooded his room. He grabbed his bedside clock and slammed it back down. He threw off his covers and realized, chagrined, that he had found sexual release somehow last night.

Jet paused and tried to clearly remember everything. He remembered dropping Helen off and coming back home. After he climbed into bed, he couldn't recall anything except falling asleep. He got out of bed and went to get cleaned up.

He started at the large yellowish bruise on his neck when he looked in the mirror. He touched it softly. There was no pain, but it was cool and not hot like a normal bruise. He looked at his right wrist that had healed after a day. He started wondering if he was sick somehow because he looked pale and unrested.

It wasn't until he went to the kitchen that his wild dream from last night came back in bits and pieces. He shook off his foggy recollection and looked through the cabinets, but amazingly enough, he had no appetite. He stumbled back to his bedroom and decided to concentrate on Pyunma Dwambee's make up essay on the _Sonderkommandos_. For that, he needed to go to the library.

* * *

Jet wandered through the stacks, only giving attention to the numbers on the spines of the books. He searched and cursed the dewy decimal system.

"There it is!" He reached for a copy of _Auschwitz: A Doctor's Eyewitness Account_ by Dr. Miklos Nyiszli. He started flipping though it and reading snippets.

"Not a pleasant book to read."

Jet swirled around and was surprised to look into Mr. Heinrich's bright, blue eyes. He shut the book and waved a hand at it.

"For Mr. Dwambee's class. I was slacking off so he was nice enough to let me write an essay to make up some points on my last test. It's on the _Sonderkommandos_. I guess you know about them since you know this book?"

Jet watched Mr. Heinrich's expression go grave. He turned his head and leaned against the bookshelf, crossing his arms. "I'm familiar with the topic."

"So what are you doing at the library on a Saturday?" Jet asked, breaking the awkward feeling.

"Research. Ironically, on a similar topic as you."

"But you're a language teacher."

"I have a personal interest in Auschwitz."

"Oh... I see. A history buff. I guess you get along great with Mr. Dwambee."

"That's right." He nodded and turned towards the bookshelves. "That's quite a bruise on your neck."

"You know. I asked that new girl, Helen, out last night. Things got pretty hot. She's a real animal," Jet said, smirking at the double meaning in his words. He stopped cold when Heinrich turned around with a smug expression.

"I see."

Jet didn't like that know-it-all tone in Mr. Heinrich's voice or the slight chuckle. He felt his face get hot so he turned back to the bookshelves himself.

"You had better try to eat something. You look rather pale and tired." The German man turned and walked towards the exit. Jet watched him leave with gritted teeth. That man was starting to get under his skin.

* * *

Jet settled on the couch in his parents' entertainment parlor with one of the books from the library. It was a random research book with specific first hand accounts from Holocaust survivors.

He scanned until he ran across the name 'Heinrich Stoller.' He backed up to the top of the page and started to read with a furrowed brow.

_The only confirmed record of a non-Jewish _Sonderkommando_ was of an SS soldier by the name of Captain Heinrich Stoller. It was found that the man had falsified records to protect his Jewish wife, Hilda. The couple was betrayed by Stoller's commander, General Issimo, and his agent only known as Scar. _

_At Auschwitz he was assigned _Sonderkommando_ duty by Captain Van Bogart. Van Bogart __was a mentor and close colleague of Stoller's. He sought to punish Stoller for his attempt to protect his wife. Since Hilda Stoller was pregnant, she was instantly sent to the gas chambers by Van Bogart. According to records, Heinrich Stoller was sent to the gas chamber six months later after serving as a _Sonderkommando_. [photo not given]_

Jet set aside the book and sighed. It was a horrible story that brought his emotions crashing. He stood up and walked back to his bedroom. He figured he had better just get the essay done rather than read any more of these accounts.

* * *

"Thank you, Mr. Link. I'll grade it tonight and adjust your grade accordingly," Mr. Dwambee said, tucking away Jet's essay in his briefcase.

"I appreciate it. You know I ran into Mr. Heinrich at the library while doing research. He said he's interested in history."

"Who? Albert Heinrich? I had no idea."

"Albert Heinrich?"

"You know we have first names."

"So you haven't talked history with him?"

"No, not at all. He's a very polite man, but very quiet. He values his privacy a great deal."

"I mean... you guys don't talk at lunch?"

"Hun? Now that you said that... you know... he's never eaten lunch with us. He usually smokes cigarettes and reads in the basement lounge."

"Well... I better get to his class." Jet turned and caught up with Frances and Joe at the door of the foreign language classroom.

"Jet! Did you hear what Helen said about you at lunch?" Frances said. Her eyes were wide with worry.

"I could care less what she has to say."

"She's started a rumor that you and Miss Cathy."

"I know! She's full of shit!"

"I was just letting you know!" Frances snapped.

"Yeah, Jet. What did you do to upset Helen any way?" Joe interrupted. Both Jet and Frances glared at Joe as the door to the classroom opened.

"When you three are finished screaming at one another, I would like you to join us," Mr. Heinrich said, giving the three of them a wry expression. Jet followed his instructor into the classroom with Joe and Frances.

Instead of giving his attention to what Mr. Heinrich said, he watched him. The hand gestures were very quick and elegant. He hadn't noticed before, but Heinrich gripped the chalk between his middled and index finger. He started to wonder if he had a deformed right hand.

"Jet! Come on."

Jet looked around and realized everyone had left the classroom except Joe and Frances. He snatched his books up and started to followed them, yet keeping his eyes fixed on Heinrich who stood wiping the blackboard clean.

"Just a minute," he called to Joe and Frances. He went over to the German man and whispered in soft German, "Mr. Heinrich? What was your wife's name?"

He looked at Jet and gave him a lop-sided smile. "Hilda."

* * *

Jet dropped the books off at the circulation desk and jogged towards the staircase in the middle of the library. He quickly made his way through the stacks to the section on German history. He grabbed three random books about SS soldiers and ran back down to the circulation desk.

There was sense of forboding as he made his way back home. He didn't dare crack the books until he had gulped a bourbon and made a second drink to sip while he looked through the books.

The first book listed no 'Stoller,' 'Van Bogart,' or 'Issimo.' He tossed it aside and flipped to the index of the second book. It listed 'Stoller, Cpt. Heinrich, pages 145-156.' His hands began to shake as he turned to page 145.

_Born October 10, 1913 in Berlin, Germany, Heinrich Albert Stoller was a brilliant cryptologist that worked for the SS. His father was killed in 1918, therefore, he was raised by his mother who was a seamstress. His paternal grandparents funded his college education which started in 1931. His studies consisted of Linguistics, Philosophy, and Logic._

_During his studies he met and courted Hilda Sulzbach. Sulzbach, two years younger than Stoller, came from Austria and was studying music. She was an aspiring concert violinist. Some say her fame and popularity is what eventually doomed the couple. The couple was married May 13, 1937. Sulzbach was of Jewish decent. However, it wasn't commonly known until after her arrest in April of 1943._

_It was in July of 1937 when Stoller joined the SS and trained for the next six months. __During that time his wife's popularity started to rise. The couple was young, attractive, talented, and well-educated. Soon, Stoller's outstanding qualities caught the attention of Captain Van Bogart. He took Stoller as his personal assistant. _

Jet swigged the rest of his bourbon and turn to page 155. He took a deep breath and started reading again.

_In April of 1944 the couple moved back to Berlin. It is rumored that General Issimo, Stoller's new superior, made advanced towards Stoller's wife at this point. She spurned Issimo with the utmost aplomb and told her husband. Stoller, who had just been promoted to Captain, had a volatile confrontation with his commander. In retaliation, the man publicly revealed Hilda Sulzbach Stoller's Jewish heritage. _

_The couple was arrested and transported to Auschwitz. They arrived at the camp on April 21, 1944 where Van Bogart had been stationed three years earlier. Van Bogart treated Stoller's secret about his wife's heritage as a betrayal to the Nazi party and sought to make an example of the man. Hilda Stoller was sent immediately to the gas chamber. She was six months pregnant at the time._

_Van Bogart then assigned Stoller to the most odious duties at the concentration camp, _Sonderkommando_. This was unusual on two accounts. Stoller was a the only non-Jewish man to serve as a _Sonderkommando_ and he was the only man to serve as a _Sonderkommando_ that was there as a political prisoner rather than for racial reasons. He was forced to serve for the longest recorded time, six month. He was sent to the gas chamber on December 21, 1944, which was a month before the liberation. _

Jet hand shook as he turned the page to 156. A large black and white photo with three smaller photos were reprinted. Jet's mouth went dry when he saw his German instructor, Albert Heinrich, dressed in an SS uniform. He stood behind a smiling woman with bobbed hair and a intelligent eyes. The photo was labeled _Captain Heinrich Albert Stoller with wife Hilda Sulzbach Stoller, taken New Year's Eve 1943_.

Jet closed the book and tried to make sense of what he had just seen. There was nothing reasonable he could come up with except that the man who was his new instructor shouldn't be alive.

To be continued.


	4. Chapter 4

(This section is rather gritty! Be forewarned. I decided that part four and five are going to be a flash back to Albert's story so they'll be pretty intense. Part six will pick back up with Jet.)

Part Four:

[Berlin, Germany: January 1944]

"Captain Stoller, thank goodness you're finally home."

"What is it, Gertrude? I hear no Beethoven playing. I thought Frau Stoller would be home by now." Albert took off his thick black overcoat and officer's hat. He handed them to his plump, elderly maid. His smile faded at her dour expression.

"Frau Stoller is home. She's in the bedroom, quite distressed. She's been so ill this week; I'm afraid she may be worse. Not that it's my place, Herr Captain, but I do believe it would be wise if you would send her to a doctor."

"I appreciate your concern, Gertrude. Let me talk to her."

"Dinner will be ready in an hour. I made something light but hot."

"Thank you." Albert nodded and made his way upstairs in their posh townhouse. He went to their bedroom door and softly knocked.

"Hilda... darling, I'm home."

"Albert..." she called out and then started sobbing. He opened the door and saw her lying on their bed, hugging a pillow. Tears were running down her cheeks. Albert quickly locked the door and sat beside her. He scooped her up in his arms and stroked her glossy, crimson hair.

"What is it?"

"Something... very frightening." Hilda threw her arms around his neck and tightly squeezed. She whispered, "I'm pregnant."

Joy filled him at hearing those words. He had longed for them for almost six years. Albert parted slightly and looked into her cerulean eyes; he had never seen them so full of anxiety. He stood up, checked outside their bedroom door, and sat back down beside her.

"Darling, what's the worry? This is wonderful news. We can have everything we've ever wanted now."

"But, Albert... I can't... I won't have our child here in Germany. How can you ask it of me?"

"But we can't leave. It's too late for us now. The only way I can protect you is by not making any sudden moves. Moving your family from Vienna to Switzerland was more a stroke of luck than my doing, and that was five years ago. Now things are even more heavily scrutinized."

"Damn it, Albert! Why did you make us stay here! The world has gone crazy and we're in the middle of all of it! I can't stand it any more."

"Hilda, be quiet!" Albert gripped her arms and drew her close to him. He whispered in her ear, "There are spies everywhere."

"How can I go on with this charade any longer?"

"Because our child would be danger if you don't. You must be brave." Albert hugged her to him and let her cry on his shoulder a little more. His joy sank into a dread. "I'm so sorry. I made a mistake. I didn't know things were going to get this way. I thought the best way to protect you was by joining the SS."

"After all, who goes looking for undesirables among SS officers' wives?"

"Hilda, don't be so maudlin. It's too dangerous now. Listen, I'll try to get a transfer to the countryside if it would alleviate your fears."

"Don't you see, my fears are over our child. This child is unwanted by society and our marriage is technically illegal."

"Our child is wanted by me and that's what matters. As for our marriage, it was made official in the sight of God. It doesn't matter to me about Nazi technicalities, you are my wife regardless." Albert stood up and tugged her with him. "It'll make you feel better to play a little before dinner. Let's put on the charade of a happy SS officer and his wife expecting their first child. For her sake."

Hilda stated laughing and swiping away the remains of tears. "So you think it's going to be a girl?"

"I hope so. It'll be fun to have another girl around to pamper and spoil. Besides..." Albert leaned closer, dropping his smile. "...boys grow to men and have to face wars."

Hilda nodded. "Okay. I'm fine now. I think I just needed a good cry before putting on the act again."

"It's okay. By the way. A new man is taking over my section. This Saturday he's holding a ball for all of his men and their wives. He's quite anxious to meet you. It turns out he happens to be one of your fans."

"Oh really? What's his name?"

"General Issimo. He has a peculiar aide that just goes by the nick-name Scar."

"How odd. Well... I'll do my best to be charming."

* * *

Albert glanced around the ballroom filled with various Nazi officials and patted Hilda's hand that rested in the crook of his elbow. "There are the Schulzes talking to Von Boyen. I don't see Frau Von Boyen."

"She's gone visiting her aunt, but you know why."

"He's one angry drunk."

"Albert, hush! We'll gossip when we get home."

"Gossip is the only real entertainment at these things," Albert griped, scowling at the men all dressed in crisp, stark black uniforms and the women in pale, floor-length ball gowns.

The reception hall at General Issimo's house was large; it was done in scarlet, marble, and dark wood finish. An over-sized painting of Hitler hung over a massive fireplace. Albert knew the Issimo was probably making a large show of loyalty to deflect his true feelings. Albert's experience had been that the true believer Nazis were usually more sedate.

"Captain Stoller, I've been waiting for you and your lovely wife to arrive." A hawkish looking man declared, walking up with an extended hand. Albert took his hand and shook it.

"Hilda, this is General Horus Issimo, my new commander. General, this is my wife, Frau Stoller."

"Really, Stoller. You're too modest to introduce her so simply. How about 'the lovely and talented Hilda Sulzbach'?"

"You flatter me, Herr General. My husband says that you enjoy my concerts."

"I'm a great admirer, Frau Stoller. Please allow me a dance." Issimo glanced over at Albert and gave him a cool glance. "With your permission?"

Albert glanced at Hilda; she nodded and smiled. Issimo lead her out to the dance floor. Albert went over to the buffet table and started making small talk with other officers, while keeping his eyes on Hilda. There was something unsettling about her dancing with Issimo.

It wasn't that he was jealous of her dancing with other men; it was the uncomfortable expression on her face. The General was whispering something to her, holding her too close. He took a deep breath and controlled his urge to interrupt the dance. Instead he would have to wait until the next dance and rescue her at a socially graceful moment.

* * *

[Berlin, Germany: mid-April 1944]

Albert opened the door to his townhouse and was greeted by a frantic, high pitched violin playing that was more akin to noise. He smirked, removed his officer's hat, and walked to Hilda's music conservatory near their parlor.

"Well, you must have had a horrible day," he said pulling up a chair beside her music stand. She dragged the bow across the strings and shot Albert a hostile look. "I haven't been home long enough to get under your skin. What is it, darling?"

"We had a caller." Albert didn't miss the sharp tone in Hilda's voice. He raised an eyebrow and waited while she set aside her violin in its stand. "Your commanding officer stopped by."

"That's strange. He knew I'd be at the office all day; he should have looked for me there."

"He was looking for me, Albert. The man had the audacity to show his face here and..." Hilda paused. Her skin flushed and she wouldn't meet him in the eye.

"What happened?"

"For the last three months the man has been sending me gifts after my concerts and he has been trying to see me when ever you're busy. I just thought to ignore him."

"Why didn't you tell me!"

"Because I didn't want you to get angry. I thought he would just get bored and move on. Today, though, he made his intentions known."

"What intentions?"

"He asked me to go away with him next week when you would be in Hamburg."

Albert bolted out of the chair and started pacing, hot rage started building in his stomach. He glanced at Hilda's face. She appeared as if she were in agony.

"It's horrible enough for him to suggest this to you when I'm under his authority. It puts a grinding pressure on you. But he knows... everyone knows... you're carrying my child. That's beyond the pale."

"Albert! What's that look in your eyes! I've never see you like this!" Hilda grabbed his arms and looked up into his eyes. Albert's briefly embraced her.

"I'll be home for dinner."

"Albert, don't do something foolish!"

"Not even Der Fuhrer would condone his behavior towards you!" Albert parted from Hilda and ran out of his townhouse, ignoring Hilda's frantic shouts.

It wasn't long before he arrived at the General's lavish downtown home. It was starting to turn dusk as he pounded on the dark, burgundy door. He wasn't shocked to see Scar answer the door. He pushed aside the emaciated man, but an iron grip grabbed Albert's left arm. Albert swung his fist at Scar's face. The man dodged and slugged Albert's jaw.

"Stop!" Issimo commanded, stepping into the hallway. "Let him go, Scar."

Albert shrugged off Scar and marched up to Issimo's face. "If you ever approach my wife again, I will kill you. Make no mistake, my family is the most precious thing in my life."

"Really, Stoller. Threatening a superior officer could send you to a labor camp. If I knew it would cause such an offense, I wouldn't have approached her."

"Offended? How could I not be?"

"You should be thanking me. You see, I like to test the wives of men who handle sensitive information. You never know which ones are loyal. Your wife happens to be very loyal to you."

"I never have doubted her fidelity to me," Albert said, stepping back from the General. He turned to leave. "Never do this again."

"Don't worry, Stoller. I'll never be bothered with you or your wife ever again."

Albert shivered as he ran out into the crisp, Spring night. He slowed and walked towards his home. There was something unsettling about the whole exchange. He shrugged it off and headed back to his home; he had a need to see that Hilda was safe.

* * *

[three evenings later]

Albert prepared himself a scotch in the dim parlor and listened to Gertrude leave out the back door. He looked over to his grandfather clock and realized it was an hour too early for her to leave. He shook his head in annoyance and took a sip.

The last three days had been very busy. The Allied Forces were pressing closer into German territory and the Eastern Front was disastrous, even though very few SS officers were brave enough to talk about it.

He took a second sip and mulled over what he could do to occupy his time. Hilda had gone to bed early and he had read every book in their house. He walked over to the thick drapes when he heard screeching tires in front of his townhouse. He drew them back and got startled.

The sight struck terror in his heart; it was the Gestapo lead by Scar. They were headed to his front door. The scotch glass slipped from his hand as the door was busted open.

"Halt, Stoller! You and Frau Stoller are under arrest." Scar pulled a gun on him after walking into the parlor. Four men charged upstairs towards Hilda. Albert raised his hands and glared.

"This is some ridiculous mistake." Albert fought to keep cool as he heard the men grab Hilda and drag her downstairs. She ran to Albert's arms.

"I'm afraid not. An informer, Gertrude Schmidt, has told us about Frau Stoller being Jewish. Of course, General Issimo is willing to be understanding, Heinrich. All you have to do is admit she lied to you. We'll take her away and then your name will remain unblemished. Right now, you are considered a race traitor. Denounce her and save yourself!"

"Never! Whatever happens to her, happens to me." Albert said, clutching Hilda tightly. She was trembling, but not crying. That caused a surge of pride in Albert. Scar flashed them a wolfish, toothy smile.

"If that's what you wish." Scar slightly waved his gun towards the door. Albert guided Hilda. He felt her stand tall and square her shoulders. He squeezed her shoulder and stood a little taller as well.

* * *

The train ride had been a hellish nightmare Albert could have never imagined it. He kept his arms around Hilda the whole time. They were forced to stand with people pressed in around them so tightly he found it difficult to breath. The odors were nauseating and the darkness made the trip even more disorienting. No talking could be heard over the loud clatter of the train wheels.

As he and Hilda were pushed onto the boxcar, Scar gave them each a patch to wear. Hilda's was a yellow, six-pointed star; Albert's was a red, inverted triangle. Her badge signified her Jewish heritage, whereas, Albert's marked him an enemy of the state and an Aryan who had committed miscegenation with a Jew.

Albert's sense of dread heightened when the train came to a halt. The door to their boxcar opened, allowing in harsh light. The sounds of barking dogs and shouting men came at Albert as he and Hilda were forced to disembark with the others. It was a tangle of people, confused and afraid. Albert clutched Hilda to him as guards started dividing people into two lines.

"Wait! Those two prisoners! Bring them to me."

Albert knew that voice even though he hadn't heard it in three years. He and Hilda were pushed towards the front of the line where a well-built, older man in an SS uniform stood.

"Captain Van Bogart," Albert whispered as the man came walking up. Bogart wore a sour expression. He shook his head and glared at Albert.

"I never expected my star pupil to end up here. And for what? Fucking a Jewish woman. Really, Albert, you should have been honest and told us what you had married. Then you could have found a nice Aryan woman to settle down with. You know I would have helped you out. Now it's too late. You've betrayed the Fatherland and Der Fuhrer."

"I did nothing wrong! She's my wife and not ashamed of it."

"Then why didn't you proudly tell me when you started courting her?"

"Because she would have ended up here or in danger. It's not right what's happening!"

"Then why did you serve the SS? Are you crazy or were you just trying to sabotage us."

"I did it to protect her. I thought no one would suspect her if I was a loyal Nazi. Now I see I was a fool. I should have taken her and ran as far from Germany as possible. I just never really dreamed things would turn as ugly as this!"

"Albert! Please," Hilda begged and squeezed his hand. He looked at her. "Don't blame yourself. I could have left, but I didn't imagine it coming to this either."

"Shut up, whore!" Bogart snapped. Albert quickly landed a left jab on Bogart's chin, but the man swiftly jammed his nightstick into Albert stomach. He crumpled to the ground, hearing Hilda scream his name. "Say your farewell. This is the last kindness you'll receive from me."

Albert scrambled to his feet and embraced Hilda. She wrapped her arms around his chest. "I'm so sorry I didn't protect you and our child from all of this. Oh... Hilda, I love you so much."

"Albert, I hold no regrets of our life together. I will always love you." He leaned over and gave her a fierce, intense kiss. He held her close until they were yanked apart by guards. He watched as she was shuffled into a line of other women and elderly folks.

"Escort the former Captain to Becker and his gang. I think that should teach Stoller what happens to people who betray the Fatherland." Two guards grabbed each of Albert's elbows and dragged him off towards a long brick building.

The stench in the bright room was overwhelming. There were fifteen men in worn striped uniforms; each had gold, six-pointed stars on the left chest. Their heads were shaved and they each looked emaciated, their eyes all looked at Albert with incredulity.

"Becker! You have a new _Sonderkommando_. Get him ready for this next round," the guard on Albert's left shoved him towards the group of Jewish men and then left.

A tall man that looked to be in his forties stepped forward. Albert glanced at the pink triangle imposed on a gold triangle. He knew this man was not only Jewish, but also defined as a sexual deviant by the Nazis.

"Change into those clothes in the corner. Hurry! We must also shave your head." Becker said coolly. There was a strong air of authority about the man.

"Shave my head?"

"Lice is rampant. Hurry or you'll bring disaster on all of our heads!"

Albert yanked off his tie and white shirt. Becker ripped the red triangle off of Albert's shirt and waited to put it on Albert's new striped shirt.

"Listen carefully. Your life depends on your ability to follow everything I say. Gold, come shave his hair off."

A very young man stepped forward with some clippers. Albert sat down, he was too stunned to protest. After his hair was gone, he finished dressing in the soiled, rough clothing.

"What was your profession?" Becker asked.

"I was a soldier. A linguist."

"Not a barber or a dentist?"

"No," Albert answered in bafflement.

"Your crime must have been heinous to be sent to us. Work beside Cohn. He was dentist and he'll show you what to do," Becker ordered. Cohn was a graying man with a harsh expression. "By the way, did you come here with anyone?"

"My wife."

"Was she sick or pregnant?"

"Yes, pregnant."

"Then you need to prepare yourself. She will most likely be in there."

"What do you mean?" Albert asked. Before Becker could answer a loud bell sounded. Nazi guards came in through the front doors.

"It's time!" shouted a guard.

Becker grabbed Albert by the elbow and looked him directly in the eyes. "No matter what you see, don't freeze up. Do not halt your work, cry out, or anything that will give them an excuse. They'll put a bullet in your head and then kill the rest of us as punishment. Understand?"

"Not really."

"Question nothing. Just follow us and you have a chance to live a little while longer. That, as long as you're one of us, is the goal: to buy as much time as you can. It's all an elaborate game we play with them."

Albert nodded. Cohn came up to them and nodded to the door. "Just keep your mind empty, son. It's the best advice I can give."

"Look at him. He's not one of us. He's here to spy for Bogart," Gold whispered in anger towards Becker while keeping his narrowed eyes on the guards.

"Keep it to yourself. It doesn't matter if he's a Jew. After the next hour, he'll be one of us, if he keeps it together."

Albert tried to take a deep breath, but the powerful stench caused him to choke. A guard came forward and unlatched a heavy metal door and pushed it aside. Becker whistled and the other prisoners formed two lines side by side. Albert stood beside Cohn and tried to peer in the darkness of the chamber. After several long minutes the guard gave the signal; Becker lead them into the dark chamber.

The horror of the scene almost knocked Albert to his feet, but Cohn grabbed his elbow and helped him over to the pyramid of naked bodies in the middle of the room. Young, old, men, women, children. They all had ghastly grimaces on their faces. All Albert could do was watch as Becker and the other started peeling apart the bodies and dragging them towards the room they had just left.

Cohn nudged him and Albert started to help him take the bodies into the next room. At first his hands shook, his mind was numb with shock. Then the thought of Hilda ran through his head. Hadn't Becker said she would be in here? His hands wouldn't stop trembling as they got further down the pile.

The sight Albert dreaded hit his eyes as he dragged an older man down. It was Hilda's face, battered. Her beautiful crimson hair had been shaved, but he could still recognize her.

He froze and murmured, "Hilda..." Cohn quickly slapped a hand over Albert's mouth and shook his head.

"Becker! Trade," Cohn called out. He yanked Albert away to another end of the tangle of bodies. Becker looked over at Albert and nodded. Albert watched Becker begin to loosen Hilda's body from the others around her. Cohn pushed Albert to the side and whisper, "Mourn later. Work now or die."

"I want to die!"

"Well, I don't. So keep your mouth shut and work." Cohn picked up a dead elderly woman in his arms and glared at Albert. "Live a little longer because she would have wanted it. You'll only dishonor her with suicide. Fight and at least go out like a man and not a selfish boy."

Albert nodded and set himself to the grim task ahead. He followed Cohn into the room beside the chamber and watched him as he pried apart the mouth of the elderly woman. He picked up his pliers and set about roughly yanking her teeth out.

"Remember, they're dead so they can't feel it. We work quickly. Jerk the teeth out and put them in that bucket over there. The gold filled teeth go in that slotted lock box. They watch us every minute so don't think to steal a damn thing."

Albert picked up a pair of pliers and set about work. He had never done anything like this in his life and it set his mind on edge. He turned his head to look for Hilda.

"Don't. Becker has her. If you look, the guards will beat us for laziness."

"What is he doing to her?"

"Best you didn't know for now. Soon enough you'll learn all about what we do here. No, no, no. Pull molars straight down. Break the jaw if you have to."

They worked in silence for what seemed like an horrible eternity. Becker came over and knelt down beside Albert. His eyes glanced around.

"Just do as I a say if you hope to keep your wife's wedding band. I'll drop it by my foot. You swallow it and then hide it later. If you don't swallow it, they'll find it when they frisk us and beat you for stealing." The brief flash of gold landed at Albert's feet.

Albert scooped it up as Gold made a slight distraction at the other end of the room. Albert didn't look at it. He tossed it in his mouth and forced himself to swallow with difficulty. "Get back to work. We're almost finished."

* * *

True to Becker's word they were frisked and marched to a small brick house beside the crematorium. It was at the crematorium that Albert briefly saw Hilda for one last time as Becker set her in the oven.

He turned away as the grief threatened to knock him to his feet. Cohn jerked him upright and shook his head with a glare. Albert realized the guards were watching them with everything from blank stares to ghastly leers. It was the ones with leers that sickened Albert.

When they were left in the room Becker put his hand on Albert's shoulder. "It's safe to vomit it up. Can you make yourself? You'll learn soon enough."

Albert nodded, needing no incentive. He rushed to the white porcelain bathroom, sunk to his hands and knees, and vomited for all he was worth. Not much came up but thick bile and Hilda's wedding band.

"The first day is always the hardest because it's the day you lose your loved ones," Becker said, getting a wet towel. He handed it to Albert and cleaned up the mess. Becker picked up Hilda's wedding band and cleaned it off. He handed it to Albert. "Take yours off as well. That's odd that they didn't make you take it off."

"I used to know Van Bogart. He and I were having words. They took me directly to you."

"Well, they won't make that mistake tomorrow. If you wish to keep them, store them in that can hidden on the third rafter. There is a leather cord in there you can tie them together. Here." Becker held up a cigarette.

"I don't smoke."

"Best take it up. It'll give you something to do. Besides, we get all the booze and cigarettes we can handle. Food is better here too."

"Why is this happening to me? Why Hilda? She did nothing to deserve that."

"She was Jewish. That's a crime in Germany. So... you aren't Jewish, are you?"

"No. I was married to her."

"Listen, the others don't trust you because we could all tell you were wearing part of an SS uniform when you came in. Be straight with us, were you?"

Albert looked to the door way where the others were crowded in, peering at him like a circus curiosity. He nodded.

"Yes, I was. I had hoped that it would save her from discovery. It didn't."

"You're the only non-Jewish man we've ever seen assigned to _Sonderkommandos_. No doubt they found you particularly offensive to their sensibilities."

"I did nothing wrong except not leave Germany with her. Now she and my child are gone because of my stupidity."

"I came to tell you that your wife was carrying a girl. I figured you may have wanted to know. I was a mortician before I came here so I knew how to check," Becker said. He lit a cigarette and handed to Albert. He took his first drag and let the nicotine hit him, causing a heavy sensation. "Why don't you give her a name?"

"Rose. I would have named her Rose after my mother," Albert said.

"That's a fine name. You won't sleep tonight so I suggest you drink some Vodka."

Albert nodded. He let Becker hide his wedding bands and lead him out to the common room with the others. They all sat in a loose circle, sipping the strong drink. Albert gulped down the drinks, but fond no release that first night.

To be continued.


	5. Chapter 5

(Madelaine Montalia is owned by Chelsa Quinn Yarbo along with all the piculiarites of these vampires. Becker and the others are my creation. Enjoy!)

Part Five:

[Auschwitz, Poland: mid-May 1944]

Albert ground out his cigarette and moved his bishop to pin in Cohn's rook. He smirked at the man's scowl.

"I suspect you lied when you said you never played before," Cohn accused.

"I'm a quick learner," Albert explained.

"You know this has been a good day." Cohn moved his queen across the board in an effort to threaten Albert's queen.

"How so?" Albert asked darkly.

"We've lived another day. Besides, I heard from one of the nurses. The Russians are on the move."

"I know. I used to decrypt some of their plans. They aren't very organized, but they are determined. Especially after all the hell the Nazis put them through. Now that Russia is thawed out they can push forward for some revenge."

"Good. I'm praying they get here quickly."

"As if the Russians will be any better? We'd be better off with the Americans. Trust me, I've listened in on both sides."

"You wear a red triangle. The Russians will kill you for sure. If they break through first, you better swap it for another badge," Cohn said.

"Maybe Becker could trade you his. Better they think you're a queer than a Nazi," Gold pointed out with the utmost seriousness from his bunk as he played a game of solitaire.

Albert glanced over at Becker. The man was lying on his bunk, reading a book he had bargained for from a guard. He gave the youngster an obscene gesture and rolled over on his back.

"They'll beat the shit out of me the same as Stoller. Nazis and Jewish homosexuals are all the same to the Russians," Becker mumbled, turning a page.

Albert turned back to his chess match and raised an eyebrow at Cohn. His workmate snorted and shook his head. Albert had learned to communicate with Cohn wordlessly. This was the first time in the month he had been here that Albert had heard anyone refer to Becker's unique badge; Cohn's snort was letting Albert know he had no information.

"Another day of buying time." Albert moved his queen in response to Cohn's defensive maneuver with his leftover bishop. "That's check, my friend."

"Damn it. I swear you're cheating," Cohn said gruffly, but Albert now knew it for affectionate teasing. "How about another game so I can figure out how you're doing it."

"Fine by me, old man." Albert was setting up the board again when the door opened. A slight prisoner with a yellow and green, star shaped badge come in. Albert recognized him as the camp snitch, Frank, that Becker and the others had a hatred for. Frank was used as a messenger for the guards and managed to grovel his way out of unpleasant task.

"What's the gutless cowered doing in _Sonderkommando_ territory?" Becker sneered and jumped to his feet. "Come to spy on us to get out of breaking up rocks tomorrow?"

"Shut up, Becker, and listen. Van Bogart's back. He came with a blond woman this time and some more of those large crates. I came over because I heard that one..." Frank waved his hand at Albert, "...mentioned by the woman. What's it worth if I tell you what she said?"

"We've got nothing," Gold lied. "Besides, we wouldn't give it to a backstabbing little weasel like you."

"Wait a minute," Albert said. "We'll barter with you, but only if the information is useful to all of us. I don't care about anything solely beneficial to myself, but if it can help the others, I want to know."

"What do you have?"

"Vodka and cigarettes, but you know that. That's why you're hitting us up. Spill it quick, Frank. You know we _Sonderkommandos_ have a short temper," Albert said.

The man gave Albert a dirty look and held out his hand. Albert quickly gave him three packs of cigarettes and small pint of Vodka. "It's worth more than that."

"Take it or leave it. The war is making us all paupers," Albert said. The rest of the _Sonderkommandos _created a loose threatening circle around the snitch. The man finally nodded and leaned closer to Albert.

"She begged Bogart to let her come and see you. He refused and she seemed rather upset. She was dressed in some female SS officers uniform, but there was something about her that was very strange."

"She only goes by the code name Venus. She was an operative working for Bogart. Not much is known about her, but I've crossed paths with her before. She can be a very dangerous or useful woman, depending on her whim."

"Anyway, some of the higher ups, like Issimo, found out you're still alive. They are pushing Bogart to send all of you to the gas chamber tomorrow. Bogart wants to play with you a while longer so there may be some game he wants to play with you. That women is also advocating keeping you around, but it seems that Bogart is rather jealous of her interest in you. You'll need to watch yourself, Stoller, or you and the rest of the gang here could end up dead."

Frank turned and left. Gold jumped up and made sure Frank wasn't lingering around to spy on them.

"Actually that is useful. Venus could be a big help," Albert said with a furrowed brow.

"She must have a soft spot for you?" Cohn asked.

"You could say that. Don't worry about a thing. I'll find a way to talk to her tomorrow and find out what's going on. I won't let any of you go to the gas chamber early because of me."

"How about talking to me tonight, Captain Stoller?" A woman's voice called out with sternness. They all turned to the doorway where a tall, blond woman stood with two guards at her side. She was dressed in a female SS officers uniform that only added to her austere presence.

"As you wish, ma'am," Albert said, standing. He glanced at Becker who gave him a scratch on his right ear. Albert gave a slight cough. It was Becker telling him to be careful, and Albert affirming he would.

He walked over and followed her outside the front porch area where public punishments were held. He turned to Venus; her face held an ocean of grief.

"Oh Albert, look at you. You look like one of them." The disgust in her voice rang harsh to Albert.

"The once great SS officer is now a part of the _Sonderkommandos_. He finds the work wholly disgusting, but much lest revolting than the Nazis. So what is it, Venus? What have you come to see me about."

"We used to be friends."

"Friendships are built on trust and I never trusted you for one minute at any time Van Bogart brought you around. You're a woman with too many secrets."

"So was that wife of yours."

Albert glared at her. "Quit toying with me and speak up!"

"Fine then. Bogart is planning on being harsh with you tomorrow. He went on a hunting trip and was very unsatisfied. He's angry and full of ideas on how to punish you."

"As if this isn't punishment?" Albert sneered.

"There are things... dark things out there that you don't know about. There is so much more to Van Bogart and myself than you ever knew."

"I always had a feeling."

"You see, Van Bogart loved you like a son. He's very hurt that you were more loyal to that woman than him."

"What is he planning?"

"I'm trying to talk him out of his ultimate plans for you, but he plans on coming tomorrow and sending all those pathetic creatures in there to the gas chamber."

"No. You can't let him. What will he want?"

"Your blood and tears," Venus answered with a grim expression. "You have no choice, but to trust me from now on. I'll do what I can to change his mind from his master plans. They go against certain rules."

"Rules?" Albert asked. Venus turned on her heels and walked off into the night.

* * *

Albert kept watch all day for Van Bogart as he worked beside Cohn that day. The others were nervous, they all knew their lives were riding on whatever was brewing with Van Bogart. It wasn't until the end of the day, after they were frisked, that they found out what was going on.

Becker lead them back to their quarters, but they all paused at seeing Van Bogart and Venus on the front porch. Albert sense the fear running through them all at the unusual sight.

"Stoller, front and center!" Bogart barked. Albert hurried to the front and met the man's blazing eyes. "This last month, I'm sure, has been an adventure for you. What have you learned, Stoller?"

"That I would have made a fine dentist."

Van Bogart backhanded Albert so hard he landed on the ground. Albert stood up and averted his eyes.

"I see that dry wit hasn't been crushed yet! Fine! Becker, get up here since you're responsible for this man's attitude," Van Bogart ordered. He produced a large bullwhip and started wriggling the end. A hungry, leering look came to Van Bogart's eyes.

"No! I'm sorry, Van Bogart. Don't do it. Please," Albert shouted out, grabbing Becker's wrist.

"Fine then! Come take Becker's beating. Next time, I won't be so generous."

Albert took off his shirt and handed it to Becker. The man's eyes looked too placid for Albert's liking. He took a deep breath and went to the porch. He leaned over and gripped the rail.

"How many should I give you? One for every year you were married to the Jew or should I beat you once for every man here?" Van Bogart raised the whip and brought it down. Albert shook with the sharp pain across his back. "You bleed so well, Albert. Just like I had hoped. I can't believe you'd fallen as far as to take this kind of beating for one of them."

"I am one of them. You made it so," Albert answered before another sharp welt was raised on his back. Albert let the beating happen; he fell to the ground at eight slaps of the rawhide. He laid panting on his side when Venus knelt beside him.

"You stubborn man!" she screamed and ran off to the Nazis' quarters.

Van Bogart knelt and smirked. "There is more of that to come, Albert."

"I will live through anything you put on me," Albert said through gulps of air.

"I was hoping you would say that. Becker, get this trash cleaned up for tomorrow. If he gets an infection and dies, you all go to the chamber."

Van Bogart left. Cohn and Becker picked up Albert as carefully as they could and took him to his bunk. He laid on his stomach and let them tend his welts while the others watched out of the door.

"I knew it! I just knew he would bring bad luck!"

"Shut up, Gold! He could have pressed it with the Captain and let us all die! You know we have to make do with whatever they throw at us. Even an ex-Nazi," Becker snapped while gently dabbing on antiseptic to Albert's back.

"Becker is right. He's one of us now so keep your mouth shut," Cohn said.

Cohn finally pressed some Vodka on Albert. He gulped it down as the lights were turned off. Everyone settled in their bunks. He looked over to Becker's bunk beside his.

"Becker, I'm so sorry," Albert whispered.

"Don't worry about it, Stoller. Just remember how I taught you to play this game. You can't mock them. Also remember, if you get hurt that puts us all at risk."

"I know. I'm sorry. I promise, it won't happen again."

"Good," Becker answered. Several long minutes passed.

"Can I ask you why you and the others are so determined to live?"

"We all have our reasons, Stoller."

"What's yours?"

"I'm a mortician who's afraid of death. I've always been afraid of the unknown. I had hoped that I could find some comfort by working with the dead, but it never happened. I've become accustomed to it like a pebble in my shoe, but I still don't want to die. I'll do everything I can to delay it because I still have a hope that we'll be liberated soon. Until then, I'll do whatever I have to, to live. I don't care what they do to me, I'll take it so long as they don't send me to the gas chamber."

"You don't believe in God?"

"Do you?"

"Yes, but I find myself so full of rage and bitterness that I can't pray any longer. The need to find a way to get revenge on Issimo and they others is all that keeps me wanting to live."

"Bitterness is a horrible way to live, Stoller. It'll only keep you weak. You should let it go and enjoy the time you have left."

"Enjoy? Here? Becker, you're insane."

"Am I? I still get an opportunity to read one more book with each day or learn something new. So what about the conditions? They let you savor those little things all the more. I never really enjoyed playing cards until I got here and I never really tasted food until I got here. This place can either destroy you or make you into something powerful. It's what you choose."

"I never understood people until I got here. Their beauty and cruelty astound me," Albert said.

"Does it hurt?"

"Like hell."

"Then you're still alive. Even pain can be a gift."

"I never thanked you for taking care of Hilda."

"She was loyal to you. She could have slept around Issimo or betrayed you somehow. I never knew that kind of loyalty."

"Is that how you end up here? Everyone knows my story, but not yours," Albert asked.

"I was living in Holland at the time. There was a young man I hired to help clean around the funeral parlor. He was the starving artist type, only with no real talent. He was trying to avoid conscription into the army so I hid him. It wasn't long before he was cornered and offered money if he could point out any Jews."

"Did he mean something to you?"

It was several long minutes before Becker answered, "Yes. I had feelings for him, but I never once made any overtures towards him. He made up vicious lies about me to keep him from getting in trouble for avoiding his draft notice."

"I can't imagine that you don't hate him."

"No. He was pathetic and scared. These are harsh times that make the best men crumble. I really loved what I thought he was and I ignored his faults. Therefore, I can only blame myself for my predicament. Maybe if we get out of here, I'll find a nice woman and get married. I wonder what being a married man would have been like."

"Becker, you're odd. Besides, what woman would have you?"

Becker chuckled, "That's what my sister said to me the day before we arrived here."

"Your sister?"

"She was sent to the chamber right away because she was lame."

"I'm sorry. Hey, Becker, thank you for being my friend in spite of the badge I'm wearing."

"We aren't different. I know what it's like to love someone you're not supposed to. Good night, Stoller."

* * *

[Auschwitz, Poland: end-July 1944]

"Stoller, Van Bogart is coming this way," Gold said, shaking Albert awake. The five am bell for work hadn't rung yet so it was still pitch black outside. He sat up as did Becker, Cohn, and the others.

Van Bogart burst in with Venus and several guards trailing behind. "Today is the day. All of you remove your clothing and go join the others at the entrance to the gas chamber."

Albert's heart pounded painfully in his chest as he started to remove his shirt. There was a part of him, in spite of his stress, at peace; he would get a chance to see Hilda and his child once again.

"Not you, Albert! You are the new leader of the _Sonderkommandos_," Van Bogart announced.

"What! No... no... no. Let me go with them. It's my time to go!" Albert felt startled by a hand on his elbow. He turned to see Becker's grim face. He shook his head.

"I can't do this. I can't do this alone," Albert insisted.

"Albert, listen carefully. You must do this. Take care of the new ones like I took care of you. Take everything you learned from us and don't let it be in vain. You must live and buy time for the others that come after us," Becker said.

"Are you afraid?"

"Not as much as I thought I would be. I only regret I won't be able to finish reading that book under my pillow. Will you finish it for me, my friend?"

"Of course," Albert answered. His throat tightened as Becker let go and started removing his clothing. He looked around and saw them all strip down. Albert's mouth got dry and his eyes moist.

"Don't take it so hard. Time just ran out. Lucky for you because I almost figured out how you were cheating me," Cohn said, not meeting Albert's eyes.

"I can't do this without..." Albert started off, but stopped when Cohn gripped his wrist.

"You'll live because that's what we want," Cohn insisted, still not meeting Albert's eyes. Albert clutched Cohn's withered hand.

"Thank you for teaching me chess," was all Albert could manage. He turned back to Becker and grabbed his hand. "Thank you for teaching me how to live."

"Come on! All of you except, Stoller! March!"

"Let us go, Albert," Becker said. Albert's hands slid off of his two friends before the guards yanked them out the door. Albert clutched Gold's shoulder one last time before the trembling, young man was jerked out of the quarters as well. The rest of his workmates were lead out after them.

Albert sunk to his knees and caught his breath, his head dizzy from the pressure. Van Bogart grabbed Albert's elbow and dragged him out of the quarters. His eyes were so intense, it cut through Albert's shock.

"Get the new ones ready, Captain."

"One day, I'll pay you back for what you did to Hilda, my daughter, and my friends. I won't care if I have to come back from the dead to do it."

Van Bogart's predatory gaze bore into Albert. "An excellent notion. After dinner we'll have a small talk. In the mean time, get to work. Here is your new crew."

Albert looked over at the fifteen filthy, half starved Jewish men. All of them looked haunted, but desperate. Albert squared his shoulders, remembering what Becker had urged him to do. He shrugged off Van Bogart and marched towards them.

"All right. Each of you call out your profession. I'll assign you a station. Come on and move it. We don't have much time. If you want to live you'll obey every order I give without questions. Punishment is doled out to us all. If you work well, you'll earn four extra months of life. All right, name and profession."

They each called out the information. Albert formed them into two lines and lead them towards the inner room beside the gas chamber. He turned to them and said, "No matter what you see, show no emotion. Just work and you will not meet the same fate for now."

The guards opened the thick iron door as Albert schooled his own raging emotions and fears. There was a part of him that imagined he was going to walk in and see Hilda's body all over again. He lead the men in and snapped orders at them to take the bodies in the next room. He gave them each their grisly task, which they all performed with trembling hands and darting eyes.

"No, not like that. You'll never get his teeth out," Albert said over to the young, Jewish dentist who was struggling with the clenched jaw on a body. Albert walked up to see Cohn's stiff, lifeless face. He hesitated for half and second and took a deep breath. "Pry open his mouth, break his jaw if you have to. After all... he can't feel it now. He's dead so don't be so damn squeamish."

He left the young dentist to his task and looked around at the others to make sure no one did anything stupid like steal. Albert murmured to himself, "After all, I'm the one that can feel all the pain now."

* * *

"You, my friend, are quite extraordinary. I always thought so. Intelligent, tasteful, and determined. You're everything the Fatherland wants to inhabit it's soil. You're everything that should be... immortal," Van Bogart said.

Albert couldn't see his old commander. His hands were bound to the tin roof of the porch. He tried to control his breathing from the seven lashes he had just endured. The new, young dentist had tried to steal gold fillings so Albert had taken the punishment on his behalf.

"You dogs, get inside and let this be a lesson. The next time one of you steals from us, you'll get a bullet in the head!"

The new batch of _Sonderkommandos_ marched inside their quarters. None of them would look at Albert, shame was written all over their body language. After the door was secured, Van Bogart walked up behind Albert; he felt the man's breath on his neck. The odor of rotted meat was overwhelming.

"It's time you know what real pain is, Albert." Van Bogart shoved Albert's head to the side. A blistering agony invade the skin under his neck and spread to his stomach. After a few minutes. Van Bogart stepped away from Albert; all he could do is slump in his restraints.

"I'll have one of your new dogs come and clean you up for tomorrow's adventure."

* * *

[Auschwitz, Poland: end-October 1944]

"Word has come down. It's tomorrow," Venus whispered. She stood outside of the doorway, keeping her eyes sharp. Albert leaned against the door jamb, eyes on the _Sonderkommandos_ he had lead for four months. "Van Bogart isn't going to let you go with them either."

"Why? I don't understand."

"Because you are on your way towards changing. The process is not done yet."

"This has something to do with what he does to me on the thirty-th of each month. He beats me and then does something to my neck. What is it?"

"I can't tell you."

"Then you're of no use to me."

"Not yet, but one day, Albert. I swear that he won't get his way with you," she said and left swiftly. Albert made his way over to his group and sat with them. They all grew quiet and looked up at him for guidance or some assurance.

"I'm sorry, but it'll be tomorrow. There is no news of an Allied breakthrough either. Tonight is your last night." All of them looked grim at Albert's news. One of the older men Albert had assigned to shave hair stood up.

"If it wouldn't offend you, Herr Stoller, I would like to pray for us all."

"I'll leave you..."

"I will pray for you too," the man named Schaefer offered.

"But I'm not Jewish and I have too much hatred in my heart for God to look favorably upon me," Albert said. He lowered his head, not wishing to look any of them in the eyes. "Besides, it looks as if Van Bogart won't send me with you tomorrow."

"All the more reason, Herr Stoller," Schaefer said kindly. "Come."

Everyone sat in a loose circle while Schaefer walked around, placing his hand over the head of each _Sonderkommando_. Albert listened to the Hebrew and let himself be lulled into peace. The hand of Schaefer rested on his head very last; a brief pray was whispered over him.

Albert looked up as Schaefer clapped his hands. "Now lets have something to drink and get some blissful rest."

After the men broke up and started to drink, Albert tugged Schaefer aside and asked, "What did you pray over me?"

"That you would find what you seek even beyond death. That you would find peace and contentment one day."

"Thank you."

* * *

[Auschwitz, Poland: December 21,1944]

"Stoller! The Captain wants to see you," a guard called out across the room where his third group of _Sonderkommandos_ worked on processing bodies. The bodies were coming at an incredible speed now. Albert had to work his men almost around the clock at a grueling pace.

Albert walked over to the doorway were Van Bogart stood wrapped in a long black coat, dark glasses, and officer's cap. Venus stood behind him; her face etched with concern. The late morning sun was glowing vermilion.

"It's time, Stoller. You're to be on the next batch. It's been several month since I've worked on altering you. After you've experienced death, the real game will begin. My gun!"

Venus handed him a rifle. Van Bogart smirked. "You're insane. Just let me go."

"Oh you'll go alright, but I'll be seeing you after sunset," Van Bogart said. He turned to the guards. "Take him to the chamber. You _Sonderkommandos_ are not to touch Herr Stoller's body. It is to be tossed on top of the used cremation pile on the east side of the block."

With that, Van Bogart turned and marched off. Albert followed the guards past Venus. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but he ignored her. He analyzed his emotions, but found none; they had been drained out of him over the last eight months.

He needed no instructions from the guards as they barked out the orders for everyone to strip down and file into the gas chamber. He new what was coming next. The heat and moisture rose. It would allow the Zyklon-B to activate. He huddled with the others as a clicking noise was made.

He knew the pellets had been dropped. Panic set in and everyone climbed on one another in an effort to get higher. Albert let go and took a deep breath; his consciousness faded as people clawed and fought around him.

* * *

A searing pain inflamed Albert's right arm. He gathered air in his lungs and screamed out. His instinct to roll and put the fire out overcame him. He rose on unsteady feet on top of a pile of mutilated bodies; he was naked and the skin on his right arm was blistered and ruined. His left hand was blue and discolored from his asphyxiation.

"He's alive! How is that possible!" a guard shouted.

"Kill him! Shoot," another ordered, taking out a gun to aim at Albert.

Albert leaped at the man and snapped his neck before the gun cleared the holster. He then jumped on the other guard and sunk his fingers into the man's neck as if it were paper. The odor of blood drew his mouth down to the wound before his mind could even comprehend what he was doing.

"Albert! Stop! You need to control it and run with me! Van Bogart will be here soon to hunt you," Venus shouted from behind him. He turned to her and began to feel more control and not as beastly.

"What has happened to me? Why am I not dead?"

"Because you are now what he is: a vampire. He turned you so that you could be hunted tonight through the winter woods. If you hope to survive, you will follow me."

"Why should I endure this! It's even more horrible!"

"Listen, I'm his ghoul, a servant bound to him, but it's not what I want any more. Take me away with you where we can live free and I will tell you everything you need to know."

"Lead me away." Albert pulled on the clothing she held out to him. He was amazed that she held a gold chain with two wedding bands dangling from it. He'd had no idea she knew about them. He put them around his neck, tucked them in his shirt, and ran after her. "Why do you need me?"

"Because a ghoul needs a vampire to survive. You'll know everything soon! Quick, to the left. I bribed a guard to let us go." Venus pointed to the small hole in the gate. Albert followed her into the deep, dark, icy night.

* * *

[Berlin, Germany: mid-April 1945]

"Thank you, Venus. This was a good idea." They both stood in a ruined building, looking down on the chaos below. "No one will be able to look for us here."

"Oh, Albert. I think we do need to find a more stable residence. Now that you know how your body works, it's time to leave for the countryside."

"We'll collect some soil in crates tonight so I can travel and move during the day. Then we'll talk more about going to South America."

"Why do you want to do such a stupid thing? I didn't rescue you to chase after Issimo and his ghoul, Scar! Is revenge over you're dead wife so important that you can't enjoy the gifts you now possess?"

"I will not rest until Issimo, Scar, and Van Bogart are dead," Albert fingered the wedding bands around his neck with his blistered right hand. "You have no choice, but to follow me now that you rely on my blood."

"Wait! I sense him! Van Bogart. He's close." Her face looked shocked, then worried.

"Run, Venus. Hide!"

"Too late," Van Bogart sneered. Albert turned to see the man level a rifle at him. Venus leaped against Albert, knocking him to the ground as the shot rang out.

Albert sat up and cradled Venus in his arms. The red wound on her chest was too much for a ghoul to recover from. "Why, Venus? I've never treated you with any trust."

"Because... I loved you, Albert. I just wanted to be with you." She gasped and fell into to a deep unconscious. Albert let her her body slip from his arms and stood. Van Bogart laughed and shook his head.

"She got what she deserved for betraying me. I'm satisfied with her death. That buys you one more night. We'll start again at next dusk."

"From now on, you'll be the hunted one. I will chase you down and make you suffer for the pain you've cause me."

"We'll see about that. Good night, Albert." With that Van Bogart disappeared, leaving Albert totally alone in a dark supernatural world he was still too new to find his way in. He had to find a way to survive.

He quickly surveyed Venus' coat and found the letter he was looking for. It had the address of a French woman named Madelaine Montalia. Venus said Albert could find asylum with other vampires that would find what Van Bogart had done to be taboo. It was now his only hope for survival.

To be continued.


	6. Chapter 6

(Of course Saint Germain is owned by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro. I decided to have a very brief guest appearance by my favorite vampire. After this chapter things are going to go pretty quick with a lot of action. I hope everyone is enjoying everything so far. I haven't had this much fun writing a story in a very long time.)

Part Six:

Jet ran to the street curb and hopped in Joe's car beside Ivan. The boy didn't even look up from a copy of Kierkegaard's _The Sickness Unto Death_ as they pulled away.

"I tried calling you last night. Haven't you replaced your cell phone yet?" Joe asked.

"No. I was doing some investigating last night," Jet replied. He was about to blurt out what he had found and toss the book about SS officers to the front seat.

"So are your parents flying in today or tomorrow?" Frances asked, turning to look at Jet.

"What? What do you mean?" Jet asked, stuffing the book into his backpack.

"Well, the party on Friday night. The post Thanksgiving fund raiser for the Link Foundation? Our parents are coming. We know they make you go to every one of those things," Joe replied, guiding the car through traffic.

"I hope you don't plan on making a spectacle of yourself like last time. After all, your parents donate the money to the local domestic violence shelters. You getting drunk and verbally abusive is not an appropriate way to get their attention," Frances said.

"Well, let me tell you the dirty little secret. Only sixteen cents on the dollar ever gets to those shelters. The rest gets funneled back into Link Aviation. It's all a big scam they use for tax purposes and public relations. And let me tell you, if you don't like watching me get drunk and calling them out, stay home."

"You didn't know they were coming home did you?" Joe asked. Shame washed through Jet at the pitying tone in his best friend's question.

"Nope," Jet answered, bravado all drained. Jet's face flushed as he turned to watch rain start drizzling against the car window.

"Jet, I don't know why you feel you have to hurt yourself bothering them. It does no good, but it creates more animosity between you and your parents. Just think of yourself this time," Frances said.

She patted his arm and turned back in her seat. Jet took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. They were shaking horribly with the unexpected, unpleasant news of his parents' arrival.

* * *

"Today we must go over the homework very carefully. Many of you asked questions before the bell rang, which means I must have not done a very good job yesterday," Mr. Chang called out brightly from the front of the classroom. The students all snickered at Mr. Chang's good natured humbleness. "Let's start with, Mr. Shimamura's question on the third problem."

The door opened and Dr. Gilmore appeared. "Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Chang, but I need to pull one of your students from class."

"Most certainly, Dr. Gilmore."

Dr. Gilmore turned to the students and gave Jet a somber look. Jet got up before the man even called his name and gathered his books. All the students shot him curious glances.

Jet followed Gilmore down the hallway for three steps before he asked, "My parents?"

Gilmore turned and nodded. "Normally I don't like to get in the middle of these things, but your parents are in my office. They wanted to talk to me about where your grades are and your future aspirations."

"What did you say?"

"You had better talk with them. Keep a cool head and come along."

He followed Gilmore into his office and saw his parents: Guy and Antonia Link. His mother looked tanned and relaxed; she was dressed in one of her grossly expensive dresses. He noticed she was wearing her gold charm bracelet, each charm had something to do with aviation or flying. It was her homage to where her lavish lifestyle came from.

His father, on the other hand, looked annoyed. The man wore his tailored, slate gray suit, which meant he wanted to dominate the meeting. The man was a successful entrepreneur, a college lecturer, and a former NASA astronaut; he had never accepted 'no' as an answer.

His mother sprang to her feet, walked over, and gave Jet a stiff hug. Jet knew the gesture was for Gilmore's sake. She said in smooth Italian, "I've missed you so much. We came back early from your Uncle Giovanni's because we're still worried about your school work."

"Everything is fine, mother," Jet replied in English, unwilling to play her little games in front of Gilmore.

"That is true, Mrs. Link. His grades are back up in every subject except for chemistry," Gilmore interrupted.

"Has he had any more problems with the instructors?" Her demeanor switched from gracious to tart.

"Well, there was some adjustment to the new foreign language instructor, but that got smoothed out rather quickly. As a matter of fact, Mr. Heinrich has offered to start Jet on Farsi after midterm. This would be a wonderful way to stretch your son's talent even further."

"It's a cheap trick, not a talent," his father snapped.

"But it would be his twelfth, fluent language: written and spoken. That is a huge accomplishment for someone his age."

"Oh. We were counting on him taking a new direction now that you've hired a new instructor. We really didn't care for Miss Cathy's suggestions about his college career. We had hoped you hired someone who understood the type of students you cater to," his mother explained.

Jet's hands curled into fists as his chest got tight. He glanced at Gilmore; the kindly headmaster looked flummoxed.

"We're not here to mince words, Gilmore. What we expect is you to put pressure on him to get his grades, all his grades, back up. We want him to stop wasting time with track and extra languages. What we want you to do is refocus his energy into business and math. It's time for everyone to stop indulging him."

"I've already got college set. I'm going to go study foreign languages," Jet said.

"Excuse us, Dr. Gilmore," Guy said, eyes locked on Jet. It had been six months since he had seen that look in his father's eyes. He heard Gilmore leave and his body trembled in ire and dread.

Jet's father shoved him into a chair and got into his face. "Who the hell do you think you are? It's always something with you! You think you can test me? Ever since you were a small kid you've been nothing but a smart mouthed brat and a pain in my ass."

Jet knew if he opened his mouth at this point, it would lead to more trouble. Jet tried to look away, but his father clenched his jaw and forced him to look up. "When I grew up in Montana I used to break horses. You think I can't break you too?"

Panic welled up in Jet's stomach; his father had never been so physical with him outside of their home. "What do you want me to do?"

"It's done," his father said, standing upright. "We've canceled your plans at that trashy school Cathy made you enroll in. After you graduate, you're going to go live with Giovanni for a year. Then you'll come back and go to Duke. I've pulled in every favor to get you in there. You'll be majoring in business. I don't give a shit if you want to minor in a foreign language, but you need to get ready to work at Link Aviation. I'm not going to let my son embarrass me by being some shiftless nobody."

"But it's not what I want to do."

"Really? Then what do you want to do, Mr. Big Shot? Go ahead, tell us."

"I don't know what I want to do yet, but I want to choose what I want to do with my life. I may want to work in aviation, but I don't know enough yet. I want some time at college to figure it out."

"Figure it out? What's to figure? You're our son. You are to do what we tell you because of the vast responsibility that comes with what we're prepared to give you," Antonia said. "Be smart for once."

"Just because I'm your son, doesn't make me your slave. I'll be eighteen soon so it won't matter what you want," Jet snapped, leaping to his feet.

"Oh really? We've consulted Dr. Gaea and Mr. Achilles about your situation. If you go against our plans for you, Dr. Gaea is willing to sign off on a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder. After that, Mr. Achilles will go to court on our behalf and have you committed to a private institution in Palermo."

"You can't do that! I'm not crazy and you can't pack me off to Sicily like I am!"

"Think about all the stupid things you've done over the years. The drinking, the self injuries, and the inconsistent behavior at this school. It won't be a problem for a court to declare you a danger to yourself in Sicily or in America. We've checked," Antonia said.

"I'm doing what I want to do. I'll get a job and work my way through college if I have to!"

Guy's fist sunk into Jet stomach. Jet fell back to the chair, winded. A sharp punch to his face rock his head to the right.

"Guy! Stop! Not here," Antonia said, her eyes darting towards the door. Jet was too stunned his father had hit him in a public place. Guy's finger appeared in front of Jet's nose.

"You have until Friday to change your mind. Get your head straight."

With that his parents left in a flurry. The throbbing in Jet's face along with the pain in his stomach prompted him to hurry and check his face before Gilmore or anyone could ask about it. He quickly stumbled along the empty hallway to a bathroom. He went to a mirror and winced at the purpling bruise on his cheek and jaw.

He knew Joe and Frances would fuss over him, but he would lie to them and they would pretend to believe it like every other time. It was his instructors like Mr. Dwambee and Mr. Britain he worried about; they never were gullible.

* * *

"Mr. Link, stay after class," Mr. Heinrich called out after he dismissed everyone. Jet walked over to his desk and worked up a nasty frown. Once everyone was out of the classroom, Mr. Heinrich fetched a pen light from his desk door and waved at Jet to sit in a chair. He did so, getting baffled.

"Open your mouth and let me have a look. That knock to your face could have damaged something."

Jet did as he was told and let the instructor look at his teeth with the light. Mr. Heinrich frowned and clicked the light back off.

"Everything looks okay, but your wisdom teeth are coming in. You should get them removed soon."

"Now you're a dentist?"

"I had a very dear friend who taught me everything he knew about teeth. It was, I guess you could call it, a hobby for about eight months."

Jet leaped out of the chair. "To start with, it's none of your business! I was horsing around with Joe and he elbowed me. Dwambee was all over my ass about it already and Britain will give me hell in about three minutes. I don't need you jumping my case too."

"I never asked you what happened because I knew you would lie anyway. You'll tell me when you want me to know. I just wanted to make sure you were weren't hurt."

Mr. Heinrich's candor took Jet off guard. He continued in a softer tone. "The other thing, there is something strange about you. I've been doing some reading. I found a picture of a man that looks identical to you. I don't know what's going on, but there's a lot more to you. Something unnatural."

Mr. Heinrich laughed and shook his head. He patted Jet's shoulder and said, "Listen, you're going through a lot of stress right now. Your imagination is probably racing with..."

Jet shrugged off Heinrich's hand and glared. "I'm not fucking nuts."

He turned and walked out of the classroom. Jet trudged towards Britain's classroom and took a large sigh before he walked in.

* * *

Jet's mother was passed out from Vodka in the entertainment parlor by the time he got home. His father was gone so he was able to slip off to his room. He picked up the phone that was connected to the land line; he dialed and waited.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Ivan. Feel like doing me a favor?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Can you hack into the school computer and tell me were Mr. Heinrich lives?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I think he's killing students and keeping them in his crawl space," Jet said heavy on the sarcasm, rolling his eyes.

"You don't need be so caustic. Let's see... He lives in that building called the Needle. You know, on Oak? Apartment 4."

"Don't tell your sister or anyone I called," Jet warned. He hung up the phone, knowing that Ivan always kept secrets when asked.

* * *

Jet kept quiet over the next two days. His father mainly stayed at his downtown office, while his mother spent time visiting with people in their social circle. Wednesday at school was chaos because of the impending holiday.

Jet avoided looking and talking to his instructors and friends. To his consternation, he found out that Mrs. Shimamura had talked to Mrs. Link and had arranged for Helen to be Jet's date at the Friday fund raiser. He blew off the news because he had a larger concern.

Jet did his homework and counted down the minutes for Thanksgiving while he sat in his room, staring at the photos reprinted in the book about SS officers. He listened to music and drew random patterns in his notebooks, while trying to talk himself into a reasonable, logical explanation about Mr. Albert Heinrich.

On Thursday Jet only came out for the large turkey dinner. His parents watched him, but made no comments. They left to meet the Arnouls at the Metropolitan Opera after the meal. Jet went to bed early; he was too frazzled from trying to puzzle out what he was going to tell his parents tomorrow.

He had come up with half a dozen crazy schemes, including taking a wad of cash and running off to Mexico. None of it seemed reasonable. All he knew was that he was determined to live his life the way he chose. He just had to find a way.

He laid flat on his stomach and drifted off into a dark lull. Iciness crept up his back; an excited anticipation filled him as he felt someone rest their weight on him. That strong odor of cigarettes and earth filled his nose as he surrender his neck to soft kisses. A thrill ran through stomach as cool hands rubbed his shoulders, he grew lustful and drowsy at the same time.

A sudden panic tried to work its way through the euphoria. Who was this? How did he get in to his bedroom? Jet felt lustful and extremely drowsy during these encounters, therefore, he wondered if he was being drugged? He asked this because of the two sharp pricks to his left wrist. Mostly, he was afraid this stranger in the night was having unprotected sex with him and there was nothing he had done to stop it twice before.

Jet tried to struggled against the man on top of him, but a heavy weigh pushed him on his stomach down on the mattress. The words _'__Dies ist ein Traum. __Schlaf'_ pushed into his head as the numbing sensation hit his wrist again. Jet felt his will slip away as he fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

Friday morning Jet spent tracking down Mr. Heinrich's apartment in spite of how weak and famished he felt. The Needle wasn't hard to find. It was not a tall apartment complex, but it was unique because of the tapering shape. Jet looked up at it and was taken aback to realize the building had very few windows. The few windows were heavily tinted to match the silver of the building.

There was a rather muscular doorman wearing shades and a dark suit; he reminded Jet of a secret service man. He walked up to the man with a plan to get in. He told the man he had forgotten to get a book on elementary Farsi from Mr. Heinrich.

The doorman informed him that non-residents were not allowed in during daylight hours because of a several break-ins when residents were away at work. The man offered to take down Jet's name and leave it for Mr. Heinrich.

Jet shook his head and said he would call back. He walked off and set up a stake out at the coffee shop across the street. Around three in the afternoon he mentally shook himself and wondered if he was starting to go crazy. He had never stalked anyone before in his life. He took a last sip of his coffee and was about to leave when he saw his quarry.

He didn't even think out what he was doing. He just followed the German man down the street. He was startled to see Mr. Heinrich get in the back of a huge limousine. Jet quickly hailed a taxi and got the driver to follow. Jet was surprised and a little thrilled to find himself at LaGuardia. He paid the cabby and followed Mr. Heinrich into the airport.

It only served to intrigue Jet more when he saw Mr. Heinrich check the time on a Romanian flight. He followed the man down to the gate and ducked behind a pillar. Mr. Heinrich unfurled a newspaper and looked over his shoulder towards the pillar Jet was hiding behind. Jet's heart thudded painfully for a half a minute, then disappointment hit him when Mr. Heinrich waved him over. Jet trudged over to the smirking man and gave him a wry expression.

"You are one lousy private investigator."

"How long did you know I was following you?"

"The minute you walked away from my doorman. Besides, you stand out with that hair color. Next time wear a hat or something."

"Thanks for the tip," Jet said sullenly as he sunk into a chair.

"Are you so bored you have to follow around your teachers during the holidays?"

"Kind of. I just..."

Jet was interrupted by a woman's voice over the PA system. "Flight 1890 from Bucharest has arrived." The announcement was then made in a language Jet had never heard before.

"Romanian," Albert answered.

"It sounds kind of like Latin."

"Romanian hails from Latin; you would be able to pick it up easily because of your skill. You may as well come and meet my friend."

"No, you know, I'm sorry I followed. I don't know what got in to me. I'm sorry I was so rude," Jet said.

Albert waved his gloved hand and smiled. "Not a problem. It'll give you a chance to pick up some Romanian."

Jet relaxed and followed Albert to the door as several people ambled through the gate. A shorter man dressed in black headed their way, but there was something impressive about the man that Jet couldn't define.

The man greeted Mr. Heinrich in Romanian. Jet could pick out 'Albert' and could tell it was a warm greeting, just from his Latin studies. Jet watched Albert and the man grip each other's arms with warmth and friendship. They parted and turned to Jet.

"Count, this is one of my students, Jet Link. He's my best student, thanks to his former instructor. He is quite amazing and very bright. He's seventeen years old and is fluent in eleven languages. After Christmas I promised to teach him Farsi. Jet, this is Francesco Ragoczy, Also know as Count Saint-Germain. His family is very old. You could even say that Francesco and I are distant relations of a sort."

"Wow. Are you a genuine Count?"

The man gave a pleasant laugh and a bright smile. "It's a very old title my friend Albert flatters me with. It's a wonderful pleasure to meet such an intelligent young man," the man said warmly. Jet shook the man's gloved hands and was instantly charmed by the man's sincerity.

"Thank you, Sir." Jet was speechless at Mr. Heinrich's compliments. There was a part of Jet that stung from the fact that his parents refused to say the same thing about him.

"Let's quickly get to the Needle. I brought your necessities from Berlin, Albert. Also, Roger was able to gather that information you desired. It would seem that the person you seek did come through New York Port Authority five months ago like you suspected, but the trail has gone cold after that, my friend."

Jet watched Mr. Heinrich's eyes narrow; a hardened glint came to those eyes behind the tinted glasses. "Thank you, Count. If we could drop off my student then we can have a more open discussion."

Jet listened closely and started to trace the Romanian conversation between the Count and Mr. Heinrich. It would seem that his German instructor was seeking some sort of justice or accounting. The Count advised him in a positive manner. Bolivia was mentioned. The thing that chilled Jet was the name 'Van Bogart' was whispered from the Count.

Jet lowed his face. The mention of the name Van Bogart was a confirmation unlike anything Jet could have hoped for. He was now certain that some how Captain Heinrich Stoller and Mr. Albert Heinrich were the same man.

To be continued.


	7. Chapter 7

(Well I won't make it to my June 4th deadline, but it will be done this weekend! Sorry about taking a small break, but I just need to write a small comedy piece. Enjoy this part; it ends on a cliffhanger.)

Part Seven:

Jet looked around the dim, rented ballroom and elbowed Joe. His friend shook his head and looked just as bored as he did. They were both dressed in dark suits, but Joe wore a tie and plain white shirt, whereas Jet wore a bright red shirt opened at the collar. "How about we ditch this place and get out of here? Just a guys' night out?"

"Yeah, I suppose you want to be hauled away in a rubber truck?"

"I told you that so you could help me come up with something. Come on, you always come up with great plans. I mean, what would you do?"

"Not piss my parents off by sneaking off. Hey, look at Helen. She looks so sad."

"Yeah, well, you better worry more about Frances. She's looking this way and she'll skin you alive if you try to flirt with that tramp."

"Hey! Helen is just misunderstood."

"Hey yourself, Joe. You better decide between them. All you're doing is hurting Frances with all this 'innocent concern' over the new girl, who happens to be a big tramp, by the way."

Joe blushed and looked down at his feet. "I know you're right. I guess I do feel sorry for Helen, but she does say these wonderful things about me."

Jet shook his head and rolled his eyes. "So does Frances. So do half the girls at Saint Ann's. Not that they aren't sincere, it's just that they're trying to get your attention."

"Since when have you become an expert on girls?"

"Joe, come on and quit playing games with these girls. It'll only make life messy and you won't like it."

"I know you don't like Helen, but..."

"Oh no. If you break up with Frances and start dating that tramp, I'll check you into the nuthouse."

"That won't happen. You know, if you don't like Helen, there are a few other girls waiting to go out with you. Let Frances fix you up. It'll get your mind off of things. Uh oh, your dad is headed over here."

Jet turned and saw his father walking over with a tall, well-built man with graying hair and distinguished features. "Jet, I've been looking for you. I want to introduce you to a new foreign investor. This is Victor Bogan. Mr. Bogan, this is my son Jet and Shimamura Joe, Akira and Erica's son."

Joe immediately gave the man a respectful bow and held out his hand. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Bogan."

The man shook Joe's hand and then turned to Jet; he held out his hand. The man addressed Jet in German. "I've been looking forward to finally meeting you face-to-face."

Jet shivered at the man's Cheshire smile. There was something uncanny, yet very familiar, about the man. Jet looked down at the man's pale hand and shook it; it was cold as winter. Jet recovered and replied in German. "It's nice to meet you, sir."

"Mr. Bogan has been working out of the upstate New York office for almost four months now," Guy Link said. "Over the Christmas holidays and after school, I'll expect you to spend time assisting Mr. Bogan in his office. I believe it'll give you the necessary experience. You really need to thank Mr. Bogan for volunteering to take you under his wing in spite of everything I've told him about you."

Jet didn't say anything. He clenched his fists that were buried in his pockets. He glanced at Joe who stared at his feet.

"I'm sure we'll soon come to a perfect understanding and you'll come to appreciate my influence on your life," Bogan said in German. Jet looked and saw his father and his friend didn't catch the man's sentence. His father didn't know German and Joe was horrible at it.

"Well I already have my role models so you'd have to take a number," Jet threw it out as a joke. The man's eyes narrowed. He retrieved a pipe from his jacket and lit it, sending over a sweet tobacco odor. Jet couldn't suppress the shudder the pungent smell sent through him.

"I appreciate a good challenge," the man said in English to Jet's father. "I'll meet with you both on very, very soon."

Jet couldn't help but stare after the man as he walked away. "Jet!" He turned to his father in confusion. "What is wrong with you? Are you high or something?"

"No. I just think I've met him before," Jet mumbled. His father gave him a baffled look.

"That can't be. He worked and lived out of our upstate offices. He's was always there. He only moved here two days ago."

"Oh."

"Get it together and don't embarrass your mother tonight," Guy warned before walking off.

Jet swirled towards Joe. "Give me your car keys."

"What? Your dad will kill you if you leave."

"I've got to. I feel sick, like I can't breath. I'm serious, Joe. I'm just going back home."

"I don't think I should. Your parents will come down really hard on you."

"Fine! I'll take a cab," Jet snapped, turned, and left the swank party.

* * *

Instead of going home, Jet stood outside the Needle in the frosty night air. The building looked even more ominous in the moonlight. There was no doorman this time. Jet slowly entered the building and walked through the lobby.

The ultra modern outside was a deception for the elaborate, Egyptian styled decor. It resembled a museum with cases of artifacts and descriptions labeled next to them. Jet's eye was caught by a several small vases in a case.

"Those are from the House of Life. They're around five thousand years old."

The voice startled Jet; he turned to see Mr. Heinrich's Romanian friend. The short man gave Jet a disarming smile and a nod of the head. The man was dressed, head-to-toe in black with one object pinned to his lapel. It was a broach-like object with silver wings coming off of a huge, round ruby.

"You don't see much of this outside of a museum," Jet said, smiling back.

"It can be found if you know where to look," the Count said. Suddenly the Count's face grew concerned. "Young man, you don't look well. Come with me to the light."

Jet follow the man, figuring he would humor him. The Count took off his gloves and placed his icy, small hands on Jet's cheeks. "Look up," he ordered while drawing the skin down under Jet's eyes. "Have you been sleeping and eating in your normal routine?"

"Not really. For the last month I've been stressed. A friend of mine died and I've let my school work slide," Jet said as the man let go of his face and gave him a shrewd look.

"Have you noticed any unusual bruising after intense dreams?"

"No," Jet lied, looking down at his shoes. Jet's heart pounded and his face flushed, wondering how this man would know. Still, he was unwilling to give away too much until he could figure out more on his own. The man's deep black eyes cut through Jet's lie. Rather than shame, Jet felt the man's sympathy and compassion.

"It looks as if you aren't keeping good company. I'll prepare something and give it to Albert to give to you. Follow the directions explicitly. Unfortunately, I'm otherwise occupied tonight or I would escort you to Albert's apartment. Good night, Mr. Link."

Jet watched the elegant man turn and leave the building. There were a few people scattered in the lobby, but none of them paid Jet attention as he turned to find Heinrich's apartment. He looked at the numbers on the door. He was amused to see they were Roman numerals. It wasn't long before he found 'IV' on a burgundy door. He knocked on it and waited.

"Jet? Now you're stalking me at my home?" Heinrich asked with a wry smirk after he opened the door.

"I had something on my mind. I need an answer and I won't leave until you give it to me!"

Mr. Heinrich flinched back slightly, but then looked amused. That only irritated Jet further. Jet snapped, "What the hell is so funny? You're going to have the cops haul me out?"

"Nothing of the sort. Count Saint-Germain made some recommendations on your behalf. He seems to think you're trustworthy, and he's a very good judge of character. Come in and I'll answer enough of your questions to satisfy you," he offered, stepping aside to allow Jet in.

Jet gave him a suspicious look. "What's the catch?"

"You aren't used to adults telling you the truth and giving you respect, are you?"

"Not since Miss Cathy. The other teachers at Saint Ann's are great, but they still think of me as a kid. My parents treat me like property rather than a son. My friends don't understand me because I can't let them know how I think and feel deep inside. I feel like I have no one to turn to right now."

"Come in," Heinrich softly invited Jet again. Jet stepped in and looked around. The room was bare, dim, and cold. "I don't keep any food or anything to drink in my place. I'm sorry about that. Since you're here, informally, you may call me Albert. However, don't do that at school."

Jet sat on one end of a sofa while Heinrich sat on the other end. He mentally tried the name Albert on the man and got comfortable with it.

The only other piece of furniture was a coffee table stacked with books of all sorts. "That's okay. I just came to talk about the picture I saw of you in as an SS officer and of your wife, Hilda. There is no mistaking it. You are, somehow, Captain Stoller, aren't you?"

"Captain Stoller, in a manner of speaking, died many years ago. There is nothing of that man left." Albert started to remove his left glove. Jet watched in fascination as the hand was revealed. It was a deep indigo color with a plain, gold band around the ring finger. "Asphyxiation by Zyklon-B is not pleasant." Albert started to remove his right glove. He held up a hand with gnarled, burnt flesh. Jet fought his impulse to cringe and looked at it closer. "My right arm and hand were burnt. The Count has told me it will never grow back the same because of certain circumstances so I've had to adapt."

"So you were there! At Auschwitz?"

Albert pushed up the left sleeve on his black sweater and showed Jet the small, blue tattoo. It was a series of numbers that started with the two letters 'EH,' which indicated a political prisoner. "The only thing I wish is that I could carve that out of my skin, but it grows back the same every time I've tried it. The Count also told me it would always be there for the rest of my existence."

"That means you're ninety-five years old, but you look only like you're thirty. No wrinkles, just premature gray hair. How come?"

"Really? I haven't seen my own face since 1944. I had blond hair before this happened to me. I have to rely on others to tell me about my appearance. I can no longer see myself in mirrors or any reflected surface."

"Stop toying around and tell me what's going on!"

"I won't go into the details of my life since its obvious you've read about me. The story, I'm sure, stops at where Captain Stoller was sent to the gas chamber on the twenty-first of December. His body burnt, ashes scattered. That's not what happened.'

'I rose before my body was burnt and escaped with some assistance. There was a man that forced this condition on me against my will. It's quite a strong taboo among those with my condition, we only choose willing people to join us. For that, I'm allowed to hunt him down like the animal he is."

Jet was entranced by the sudden passion in Albert's voice, the sudden emotions in his bright, blue eyes. "It's that man, Van Bogart, isn't it? He's the one that did this to you."

Albert gave him a startled look. "Yes, that's the man. You're perceptive if you picked that up from some dry history books." Albert picked up a pack of cigarettes and lit one. "A bad habit a friend of mine passed on to me. Some of my friends, the ones who are among my kind, think it's ridiculous to smoke. I find the act soothing even though the chemicals no longer effect me."

"Coach Geronimo would kill me if I took it up again. He busted me and told Miss Cathy. She rode my ass until I quit. I wish I still..." Jet stopped when Albert held the pack out towards him.

"I'm not her. Besides, you have more pressing issues than racing and school work. Mr. Britain told me a lot of things about you. He's quite a big gossip, which is very useful to people who are good listeners."

"Yeah, he's cool, but can really be a pain in the ass." Jet took a cigarette and let Albert light it for him. "That already feels better."

"I though it would."

"So... what are you anyway?"

"Does it matter? There is a lot of words you could label me, but I don't want that confusion with you. Just know that you're in no danger from me. No one at the school is. I'll be gone as soon as the Count and his man Roger find my target."

"So now you're going to leave?"

"Jet, you have to understand I can't fill the gap in your life that Cathy left behind. That's not what I'm here to do. I'm just biding time until I can kill Van Bogart. After that, I intend on going to South America so I can track down Horus Issimo and Scar. That's the only reason I exist."

"How selfish and pointless. Over sixty-three years of chasing after someone... for what?"

Albert turned to him, controlled anger twisted his face into a scowl. "You didn't live my life or continue on in this type of existence! You're a spoiled child that doesn't even realize what he has in his hands! When you wake up like I have, forced into this dark, half-life, then you can critique me!"

"I'm a fucking spoiled brat! You don't know what my life has been like either! I'm not allowed to be myself! I'm being forced to be another person to please my parents. I have no choices!"

"You could run away and live your life as you choose."

Jet let out a rough, dry laugh and fixed a sour look on Albert. "I tried that once before. They hired someone to track me down. I spent a whole Summer doped up and in a psychiatric facility. My parents have things so controlled. Yeah, I can party all I want at their place while they're gone, but they have me followed. It's always been like that with them! If I don't toe the line I get the shit beat out of me!"

Jet took a deep breath and felt his face grow crimson. "I said too much. Listen... I really don't know why I came. I won't bother you..."

"Did Miss Cathy know?"

Albert's simple question startled him and froze his jerky movements to put out his cigarette. Jet nodded and took a deep breath. "You know, I once had a friend, a middle class club kid, once say to me that he wouldn't mind if his father beat the shit out of him so long as he had all that money and the nice Manhattan penthouse. Do you know what that says to me? Quit complaining. It's not like you really have a shitty life. Just suck it up because you really don't have a right to complain. People don't think I have a right to keep from getting hit."

"Have you told anyone?"

"Besides, Cathy? Not really. All the teachers at Saint Ann's suspect, but for some reason they don't say anything. Fucking drives me crazy sometimes because they sit by!"

"You don't understand them. They're trying to protect you. If they confronted your parents, then they would pull you from school and send you someplace worse. At least here, they can encourage you and try to give you a good place part of the time. They are concerned for you and they want to see you go to the college you choose."

"Oh, I didn't think of it like that." Jet grew mollified as he took another cigarette.

"I apologize. You have a right to live your life free of being abused. Sometimes I lose perspective. Besides Hilda, I've never had anyone give me quite the reality check you just did."

"Same here. Listen, could you not leave on me suddenly. Just promise you'll stick around for a little while. I really need..."

Albert held up his gnarled hand and gave him a smirk. "I promise, because it looks like I've lost myself. I don't want to be an empty shell just focused on vengeance. I need to retain my humanity. My big fear is getting what I want and then having nothing after it all. There is a part of me that wants to kill Issimo and myself at the same time. That seems to be my whole purpose, self destruction."

Jet smiled at him and shook his head. "You could find another purpose along the way."

"Come on. I better make sure you get home." Albert stood suddenly; Jet sighed and stood too.

"I'm going to catch hell for ditching my mother's party, but I don't care. It was worth it. I don't feel so lonely."

* * *

Jet made Albert drop him off a block away from the building he lived in; he explained there were a lot of people that get word back to his parents and it could reflect badly on Albert's reputation at Saint Ann's. Albert agreed and bid Jet farewell.

Just as he predicted, his father and mother were waiting on him as he came in. He grew nervous because they were so quite; all they did is sip whiskey and give him expectant looks. He knew he couldn't ignore them so he went to a chair across from them and sat.

"So you didn't even have the courtesy to stay during a whole party. What was so pressing that you had to suddenly embarrass your mother in front of all her guest?" Guy took a sip from his lead crystal glass, glaring at his son.

Jet was shocked to feel he had no fight within himself right now. The talk with Albert had left him drained. More importantly, it had left him with the knowledge that there were true horrors in the world unlike what he had experienced. He felt extremely placid as he met his father's eye, for the first time he felt no fear of the man.

"I had a friend I needed to talk to. It couldn't wait."

"A friend? Is that it? Is that your way of telling us you went out and got laid?"

"No. I was just talking to this old guy. I was trying to figure out why people suddenly die for no reason."

"Not this again," his mother sighed, rolling her eyes. "You're going to Dr. Gaea's after school on Tuesday and put this Cathy shit to rest. Everyone dies. Just accept it and go on! Do you think you're she should have lived forever?"

"No, it's more than her. It's also about really cruel things that happen in the world. Like the Holocaust and..."

"Oh no! Now Holocaust? Can't you do anything besides waste your time on things that really don't matter? Quit being so stupid and make up your mind: are you going to get with the program or do you want to fight me?"

Jet rose to his feet and narrowed his eyes. "I don't care where you send me. I'm tired of trying to be something I'm not just to make you both happy. You do what you have to do and so will I."

He turned and walked towards his bedroom. The silence from his parents was more chilling than any time he had been yelled at. He got into his darkened room, stripped down, and buried himself under the covers. For the first time, he felt empowered. He now had a new person to look to for strength and an example.

* * *

Jet woke up when his hand grazed the slick, cold metal blade of a butcher's knife. He rose, but every muscle felt stiff and on fire. He had an insatiable thirst and a throbbing head. He pulled back his covers and was shocked to see his wrists had deep, purple bruises as did his stomach.

What worried him the most was the large gash on his left, inner thigh that was surrounded by one of those odd yellowish bruises that felt cool to the touch. His sheets were sticky, stained, and had the stench of tobacco. He rolled off his bed and noticed his door was hanging off the hinge.

Jet tried to rack his brain, but all he could remember was falling asleep. He tremble while pulling on a pair of jeans. He began to panic and wonder if he and his father had a fight and he didn't remember.

Jet eased out of his room. A sharp pain ran up his leg. He bit his bottom lip and realized he had stepped on a piece of glass from a smashed mirror in the hallway. He caught sight of the lacerations on his face and turned away. He hobbled down the hallway to the entertainment center; the door was cracked open and the light was still on from last night.

He pushed it back and saw the white room stained in patches of vermilion. Jet walked into the chaos in disbelief. He didn't stop until he saw his parents laying on the floor, covered in their own blood.

Shock sunk him to his knees. His terror stricken mind raced, trying to find an answer. There was none. All he knew is he had to leave right now. He quickly made it over to the telephone and stilled his hands enough to dial.

"What do you want, Jet? I'm busy."

"Ivan, it's a real fucking emergency. Please find me Mr. Heinrich's phone number."

"You sound horrible. Do you want..."

"Just fucking do it and stop asking me shit!"

"Fine," Ivan mumbled. He was silent for a few minutes, but Jet could hear the clacking of computer keys. Ivan gave him the number and hung up. Jet dialed and waited as warm tears started falling down his cheeks against his will.

"Hello?"

"Albert. Please... I need help. Someone just killed my parents. I don't even know if they're still in a house. Hell... I don't remember anything at all."

"Go lock yourself in a closet. I'll be there soon." The click on the line sent Jet stumbling to the nearest coat closet where he balled up and tried in vain to stop crying.

To be continued.


	8. Chapter 8

(Sorry it took so long. I had to erase half of this one and start from scratch. I was really embarrassed when I realized that I had done something vaguely similar in another story (The Flesh Element). I like totally original things best, but I wasn't satisfied with how 'The Flesh Element' worked out. I figure... even if this story has a commonality with 'The Flesh Element,' each will have their own unique feel. Chapter Nine will take a neat twist with Albert and Jet's relationship. This chapter is really short because of my back tracking, but the next one will be longer and a whole lot richer. Enjoy.)

Part Eight:

"Come out, you spoiled brat!"

Jet heard the harsh German words and felt a shiver run up his spine. He jerked upright and stilled his breath in the darkened closet. Suddenly the door flung open and Jet was blinded by glaring light; he was yanked out of the closet, dragged to the kitchen, and forced to sit at the oak table. The man was now leaning against the gray marble counter top.

His grogginess wore off as he sat upright; he wasn't strong enough to stand on his own two feet. Jet sank low into the chair and gripped the armrest when his eyes adjusted, his knuckles turned pure white. He recognized the well built, older man from his mother's party the evening before.

A jolt to his memory shook off his wave of nausea. "Wait! I thought I knew you from my father's company, but that's not right! I know you from a book. Your real name is Van Bogart, isn't it!"

"Precisely. The fact that you were clever enough to figure it out tells me my instincts were right."

"Instincts for what?"

"To choose you as a retainer. I found out that you happened to have... crossed paths... with an old friend of mine. That made me decide to play my hand early. Now my plans are more ambitious and they involve your implicit cooperation," Bogart continued in German.

"What the hell are you talking about!"

"I met your parents last year on one of their business trips to Germany. I was able to persuade them to use my steel manufacturing firm. They confided in me that their poor son was a rebellious, troubled boy spending the summer in a sanitarium. That's when I started to formulate my plans with some old friends of mine.'

'I would come over here at the precise time, gain your trust, and then murder your parents. You were supposed to then gleefully hand over the responsibilities to me. I was then going to quietly do away with you after your father's company was securely under my control. Unfortunately, you weren't as addle brained as your parents said you were. Far from it."

"Well, now it's too late. I don't inherit a thing until I'm twenty-three. You really screwed up because everything will go to my Uncle Giovanni until then."

"Oh have I?" Bogart walked over and sat in the chair next to Jet. He gave Jet a leering smile. Jet shivered and looked away, but the man's hand slid to his thigh. Bogart's thumb dug in where the yellowish bruise was. Jet doubled over in extricating pain only to have the man backhand him.

"I know you know Heinrich Stoller so lets not... as you Americans say... beat around the bush. It's very taxing on my patience. Anything your father ever did to you is child's play compared what I will joyfully... and enthusiastically... do to you," the man whispered, coolly, clenching the bruise tighter.

Bogart took his hand off of Jet's thigh; Jet sat up again as sweat broke out over his skin. Bogart stood, gripped Jet's chin, and said, "You are able to give me three things I want: sex, money, and Stoller. One of which, I've been getting from you the last few weeks. Don't give me that horrified look. You thought you were have the ultimate sexual fantasy, you puerile thing. Keep in mind though, you'll want to keep on my good side. I'm only hours away from killing Stoller. Once that's done, any whorish, rich brat will do."

"So you were after Albert the whole time?"

"No. I was going to quietly earn your trust and stick by your side until you turned twenty-three, however, you were just too tempting to not take advantage of when I observed you last October at a funeral. Your father complained about you bitterly to me and said that they were leaving you alone for a month to get it together. I just couldn't help myself from getting a little taste. I wasn't going to reveal myself to you until February. Imagine my dismay when I saw some of the books you were reading. I got nervous and wondered if you knew, somehow.'

'It wasn't until I snooped through the books, saw some scrawled notes, and saw the name 'Albert Heinrich' that I put it together. Somehow that blasted son-of-a-whore tracked me to New York. Your teacher, ironically, is the one man I'm hunting. I grew rather angry and I followed you to that haven the others of my blood keep... the Needle... last night. He must have confided everything to you since you were allowed to walk on their territory without a pack of ghouls tearing you apart."

"Albert only told me that he continues to live on after he died. He wants revenge on what you did to his wife. I'll help him get it too, you sorry sack of shit!"

Van Bogart backhanded Jet soundly and pushed him back in the chair. "My plans have changed. Our kind..."

"I don't even know what you and Albert are! He wouldn't tell me."

Van Bogart looked stunned for half a second and then chuckled. "We are vampires. Stoller... that high-and-mighty Francesco Ragoczy and his ilk.... Issimo... all vampires. I've fed off of you four times. Not quite enough to make you one of us. If you were to die now, you most likely would stay dead. It doesn't suit me to have you permanently dead."

Jet calmed his rapid breathing and gave Bogart a glare. "What do you want?"

"To kill Stoller. Your call to him has done its trick. Afterwards, you will let me take you one last time and then you will commit suicide. You'll rise in a couple of weeks and we'll make it appear as if you were kidnapped. You'll do as your Uncle tells you and inherit the company in five more years. Then you'll give it to me and I'll send you to serve General Issimo down in Brazil. He has quite a thing for redheads. Frau Stoller found that out the hard way."

"What! I'm not fucking stupid. The minute I turn twenty-three, you'll just kill me. I'm not going to help you."

"Maybe one of your friends will? Frances? She very beautiful. She's wasted on that silly boy Joe who doesn't even know what he has. Or maybe that girl Helen? She strongly resembles the ghoul that betrayed me. It's uncanny, almost. Oh the pleasure I would get from torturing her for Venus' betrayal! I wouldn't try Joe. He has too much integrity to become my retainer. He would only crack and do something noble like commit a permanent suicide."

"Don't you dare touch my friends!" Jet raged. He leapt out of his chair and bolted to the wide door. He paused at the doorway when an emaciated, toothy man appeared on the other side. He was dressed in black leather and had a Luger in a holster. Jet slowly turned to Van Bogart. He placidly asked, "Why did you choose me?"

"Because you are only a means to an end. You hold no intrinsic value to me whatsoever." Bogart held up a bottle marked 'cyanide' and flashed a malicious smile. "You'll need these this afternoon."

Jet shook his head. "I wouldn't let my parents use me, I won't let you either."

Bogart's smile faded; his eyes grew icy. "Then you will be persuaded. Scar!" The door opened and the guard stepped in. "Have a talk with Mr. Link and make sure he sees things our way." Bogart held up the bottle in front of Jet's nose and placed it on the table. "You'll beg for this when he's done with you." Bogart turned to leave and said, "Make sure to leave his eyes at least."

Scar gabbed Jet's arm and pushed him to the linoleum. Jet stilled his fear with anger as the ghoul flicked out a stiletto and gave him a wolfish grin. "Bogart says you hated your parents. Well, how about I give you a little something to remember them by."

Jet's eyes traveled over to what Scar was looking at, it was the Link Aviation logo engraved on a bronze dial hanging on the wall. It was of a pair of flaming, interlocked links with feathery wings coming off them. A large 'L' was imposed on it. Jet looked at Scar and shook his head.

"Don't. I don't want that..."

"Swear obedience to Van Bogart and our coven."

"No!"

Scar grabbed Jet's elbow and forced him to lay on his stomach. Scar sat on Jet's lower back and gripped his right shoulder blade.

"I'm going to enjoy this."

Jet screamed out loud as the thin knife cut deep into his back. Scar stopped at three cuts and leaned over to Jet's ear. "Are you ready to submit to us?"

"Fuck you!" Jet screamed. The knife sliced below his left shoulder blade. He clamped his teeth on his right forearm and settled into single-minded stubbornness.

* * *

"I'm sorry, highness, but I must leave. It's urgent. Jet just called..."

"Yes, Albert, I must talk to you about that boy. He is in a great danger if you continue with him as you are. Drinking too frequently is not something I would recommend."

Albert gave the Count a baffled look as he walked back to his couch and let Saint-Germain into his apartment. He picked up the Walther P38 and checked it. "I never touched him. You know I sustain myself at zoos and the like. Besides, he just called. Someone killed his parents. He's waiting on me."

"His health looked rather poor. I inquired and looked under his eyes. He has the kind of yellowish tint we produce in our companions."

"You mean snacks?" Albert didn't bother hiding his bitterness. His hasty activities froze as his mind processed what he had just heard; he swirled towards the Count. "But if it wasn't me that... That means his parents were probably killed by one of our kind."

Saint-Germain's face puckered with the disapproval of an instructor towards an apprentice. "Did you not notice any bruises or fatigue?"

Albert furrowed his brow and thought back. "Well, I noticed a bruise on his neck once. He told me a girl gave it to him. I thought he made it up because another instructor at the school seemed to think he was secretly gay. I thought Jet had been around with a boy, but was lying to me to protect his reputation at school. The fatigue... I just assumed he was still depressed over losing his former teacher. No one at the Needle would touch him. A rogue?"

"The only rogue in New York is Van Bogart. Could he have been tipped off and found you somehow?"

A creeping horror came over Albert, his eyes grew wide as he started to tremble. "Somehow he found me through Jet. He wouldn't have targeted him otherwise. He also wouldn't have killed Jet's parents without a purpose. He's a very methodical man who doesn't waste any effort."

"I fear Jet may not stay alive for much longer. No doubt, Van Bogart is interrogating him."

"I need to go and finish Bogart!"

"No doubt he's luring you out. I'll come with you."

"No. This is a matter between me and Bogart. I vowed to Hilda, Venus, and all the others that I would kill him by my own hands."

"I respect that this is a matter of honor."

"If I fail, will you take up my cause and finish Van Bogart and Issimo?"

"Most certainly. I am your Second. Remember that his head must be struck from his body or he must be incinerated. There is no other way."

"I understand that." Albert turn to leave after holstering his Walther. He paused before walking out of his door. "And if Bogart wins, make sure Jet is taken care of."

"It will be done," the Count affirmed. Albert shut the door with confidence and left the Needle. He put on a hat and walked down the street. He kept his mind focused on one memory. That day he saw Hilda's lifeless body in the gas chamber.

To be continued.


	9. Chapter 9

(One more chapter after this one. Thank you to everyone who has been reading along.)

Part Nine:

Albert picked up the pay phone receiver and dialed the Links' phone number. After three rings he heard Van Bogart say, "Stoller?"

"Yeah. I'm a block east of where you are. There is a building under construction. You'll find me somewhere inside. If I catch you first, you'll hand over Jet," Albert said in clipped German.

"I told you once how good hunters know their bait." He replied in their native language.

"Is he unharmed?"

"It's possible he can survive. You see, I've let Scar have a conversation with him. He looks a bit poorly now. Blood everywhere, making me hungry for a good hunt. I doubt you'll overcome my destiny and win, but if you do, you may come here and have what's left of Jet."

Albert's hand grew numb as his grip on the phone tightened. "Meet me in ten minutes or I'll come and drag you out." Albert slammed the phone down and turned to the building under construction. It wouldn't be long before the sun set and he could move around more comfortably; he knew Van Bogart would wait for the same reason.

He quickly broke into the building and made his way through the maze of sheet-rock. He found a vantage point where he could snipe Van Bogart. It was a vast hole in the floor that was going to be an atrium. He drew his Walther, laid on his stomach, and shut his eyes instead of watch the lobby door.

Albert figured Van Bogart would know better than to walk in the lobby. It was what he counted on. Albert focused on the sounds coming from behind. There was a subtle creek. Albert rolled to his left as three bullets pinged into the floor. He aimed at a swirling shadow that dropped towards him. The bullets made dull thumps and there was a howl.

The shadowy swirl caught Albert's shoulders and dragged him towards the atrium. They tumbled towards the floor and landed. Van Bogart materialized beside Albert. They both sprang to their feet and faced each other.

"You haven't worked at honing your abilities over the decades as I have. You have no protean skills. You've grown weak and pathetic since I've bestowed this gift on you."

"Forced it on me!"

"It matters not! I have new goals now. I'm tired of our little game, Stoller. It ends tonight."

"So you've forced this condition on Jet as well?"

"I've forced more than that on him. I'm working on breaking him so he'll not rebel against me as I drain all of his parents' money into South America. Issimo wants to reestablish a presence in Europe so we won't have to grovel for our native soil again. Purity of blood will be establish once again when our new order gains financial control of businesses all over Europe. You know as well as I how vital an aviation company is to a coven of vampires. Without airplanes there is very little way for us to travel comfortably over an ocean. Link Aviation is the key to our growth in Europe."

"Then I must stop you."

Van Bogart threw back his head and madly cackled. "You'll never stop me. It's my destiny to beat you and subjugate Europe once again. I'm entirely too quick for you. You are the prey; I am the hunter!"

Van Bogart's form turned shadowy once again. The dark shadow darted towards Albert quicker than he could flinch. A deep, hot gash opened on Albert's left shoulder. Shadowy Bogart swirled quicker and quicker around Albert, slicing at his face and body.

"I... I'm going to kill that bastard," Albert mumbled. He closed his eyes once again, listened, and brought his Walther to bear. He steadied his breathing and tuned out the dark, icy chaos around him. His finger squeezed the trigger. Silence followed a loud thud.

Albert opened his eyes and ran over to where Van Bogart now lay bleeding on the ground from a chest wound. The older vampire gaped in shock as he panted. "But... how..."

"You may be quicker, but you granted me a vampire's enhanced senses. Not only that, but did you forget you were the one that taught me marksmanship when I was studying under you at the university?"

"I'll recover from this!" Bogart rolled over with loud grunts and struggled to his feet. Blood trickled from the corner of his sneering lips.

"Not before I finish you." Albert raised his gun and shot Bogart in the head. The vampire fell back to the ground and bled from the head wound. Albert holstered his gun and smirked.

"It'll take you months to recover from that. By then your ashes will be scattered all over Manhattan." Albert hoisted Van Bogart's unconscious body over his shoulder and walked towards the basement. He found a metal drum and placed Van Bogart in one. He fished in his pocket and brought out his Zippo lighter. "Fortunately, we catch fire pretty easily. Trust me, this is going to hurt."

Albert lit the Zippo and tossed it on top of Van Bogart. The flames grew and grew in a sinister green color. Suddenly, a malevolent screech came from Van Bogart; his body wildly thrashed and finally came to a rest as it crumpled into a thick ash at the bottom of the drum.

As the flames died to embers a hollow ache settled in the pit of Albert's stomach. He removed his left glove and studied the plain gold band on his blue ring finger. "Hilda, I've finally got Van Bogart, but this is not finished yet. Soon Issimo will take his last breath!"

* * *

Albert pounded on the door to the Links' penthouse and ducked beside the door. Scar flung open the door and waved his Luger in the air. Albert smashed Scar's hand and punched the ghoul in his chin. Scar stumbled back and leaped at Albert. He dodged and turned to face Scar, but the ghoul was swift. The emaciated appearing creature ran down the hallway with a toothy scowl.

"Issimo will punish you for this!"

"Tell him he's next!"

Scar ran towards the stairs. Albert turned and jogged inside the upscale apartment. He found Jet, dressed only in jeans and lying on his stomach. Deep slashes covered his back. Albert saw the pattern and shook his head at the brutality.

He unfroze when Jet's fingers twitched and he groaned. Albert carefully took Jet into his arms. Albert could tell it was too late when he noticed that Jet had been stabbed in the abdomen. Jet's eye fluttered open.

"Albert. I didn't help them."

"I know. Please, be still. You've lost too much blood. You don't have much time left."

"Van Bogart was with me four times. He said I wouldn't come back though."

"It takes about six or seven times."

Jet shook his head, his eyes were wide. "I don't want to die. Please do something. I want to live. Please save me."

"But, I can't. The only chance you would have is if I..."

"Please do it. I don't want to go like this. I won't go like this!"

"Hush... I'll try, just calm yourself. To do this, I'll end up killing you now. Even then, it probably won't bring you back. Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes. Do it. You've got to try," Jet begged.

Albert nodded and tilted Jet's head backwards. He placed his lips on Jet's neck and steadied his breath. He quickly sunk his fangs in Jet's neck. Jet's emotions flooded into Albert as his life flowed away: there was fear, excitement, and peace all mixed together. Jet's hand ran through Albert's hair and then fell away.

Albert gingerly let go of Jet's body and placed him on the linoleum. He turned and carefully left the Links' home, making sure he wasn't observed. Now he had to make arrangements with the Count and some of his other allies and hope that Jet's exposure was enough to cause his body to rise again.

Albert rolled his tongue around in his mouth as he walked through the bitter cold night. Jet's blood tasted metallic and satisfying. It cured a deep hunger he had suffered with for years, denying himself human blood. Denying his monstrous cravings. He shivered, not from the cold, but from the sudden warmth Jet's blood filled him with.

* * *

Albert walked into the funeral parlor and glanced around at the various people mourning the Link family tragedy. He recognized Dr. Gilmore right away and went over to him. He shook the man's hand and greeted him.

"I'm glad you came, Mr. Heinrich. I know that you've only been with Saint Ann's for a month so I wouldn't expect you to attend."

"No. I really wanted to. Jet was quite an extraordinary young man."

"Yes. It was horrible that such a thing happened. I heard the news on the radio. They believe it was a man named Victor Bogan who had come to work for the Links last August. Port Authority seems to think he's still in New York. I sincerely hope they catch that man."

"Justice always seems to overcome wicked men like that." Albert glanced over as Chang, Geronimo, and Dwambee walked up.

"Good of you to come, Heinrich," Chang said.

"So are those his relatives?" Albert nodded towards a group of people across the room.

Britain walk over and shook his head. "Those people that look like they belong on 'Dallas' are his father's side. That group of that looks like they walk off the set of 'The Godfather' are his mother's family."

Albert wasn't familiar with the references, but Jet's extended family stood out. Pyunma tugged on Britain's sleeve, "Are you ready?"

"I know what I'm going to say. I don't think Joe does," Britain said.

"He and Joe are delivering eulogies," Chang explained at Albert's quirked eyebrow. The group of Saint Ann's instructors looked over at Joe, Frances, and Ivan huddled in another corner. Joe's face looked dour as he stared at the floor. Frances was tearing up.

"Ivan doesn't look so good. Is he going to be okay?" Albert fished to see if Ivan had revealed anything that could lead the police to his involvement.

"No, except he was the last one to talk to Jet. Ivan said he was incoherent, but didn't describe the attacker to him. The police couldn't get any clues off of the phone call, but fortunately they were able to trace some paperwork to that Bogan fellow. That and his sudden disappearance. Jet was probably scared out of his mind and walked in at the wrong time. They seem to think Bogan was blackmailing Jet's parents," Chang said. Albert was relived that Ivan had lied about what he knew, but he had no idea why the heterochromatic teenager had done it.

"Still... he must have been a sick man to do what he did. The police said Jet fought back; it probably angered the man," Pyunma said in a somber tone.

A church bell rang out. Britain nodded and said, "I'll see you gentlemen later."

After he left, the Saint Ann's instructors filed in with the other mourners. Albert knew it would be a closed casket service. A lot of strings had been pulled by the small community of vampires that worked in the city morgues and mortuaries.

Jet's casket was empty, filled only with bricks. Currently, Jet's corpse was at the Needle buried in New York soil; no embalming had been done. It would give Jet a better chance at rising. Count Saint Germain remained doubtful it would happen. This would be the fourth day, but Albert reminded the Count it could take on up to a month.

The service was an ornate Catholic ceremony that Albert was unfamiliar with, being Lutheran in life. After several people talked about Jet's parents, Mr. Britain stood up in front of the congregation. The bald, British man gave a wan smile, cleared his throat, and gave a slight shake of the head.

"It's ironic that only two months ago Jet was standing in this very spot delivering a tearful eulogy for the teacher that had most influenced his life in a positive direction. It's quite a shock to me to be standing here doing the same for him. He had asked me what he should say. I gave him a passage from _Macbeth _which he used and then later recited for an assignment.'

'_She should have died hereafter; There would have been a tome for such a word. Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools, The way to dusty death. Out bright candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale, Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing_.'

'He was so full of life and energy. He had frustrations that many of us tried to understand. He was intelligent, strong-willed, and loyal. His high spirits lead him to make some mistakes, but he was always willing to learn from them and make an effort to overcome them. It's a tragedy unlike anything to see Jet's life taken as he was on the cusps of adulthood and about to accept the new challenge of college. The only thing I think I can say is that he will be sorely missed by everyone at Saint Ann's. His friend Joe Shimamura has a few words as well."

Joe took Mr. Britain's place on the dais. Albert thought the Japanese boy looked absolutely shell shocked. He jammed his hands in his pockets and looked over the crowed for one silent minute.

"The one word Mr. Britain said that stuck out to me was loyal. I can't remember a time Jet wasn't there for me. We've been friends since we were five-years-old so for the last thirteen years I got to know him pretty well. Miss Cathy used to call him a 'free spirit.' I used to tease him and say she call him a 'trouble maker,' but I knew what she meant.'

'He always had to follow his heart, no matter what anyone said. He was always so perceptive. He could easily see through any excuses or lies people told him. He wasn't afraid to give his opinions either, even when it was unpopular or something I didn't want to hear. I don't think I'll find anyone who was that honest or loyal to call a best friend again. Everyone will miss him," Joe finished and walked back to his seat beside Frances, but not before his moist eyes betrayed him.

Albert watched the ceremony with mild interest. At its conclusion he followed along to the graveyard where the ceremony was concluded. Afterwards, he chatted with his fellow instructors again and left. When he got back to the Needle he went immediately to the lower, underground level basement.

The large cinder block room had a pile of dirt in the middle. To Albert's frustration, the New York soil remained undisturbed. He walked over to the side of the room where a steamer trunk rested. He opened it and looked to see it was now only half filled with Berlin soil. He slammed the trunk shut, sat on it, and lit a cigarette. All he could do now was wait Jet's corpse out for the next month.

Albert couldn't even pursue Scar to find Issimo in Brazil until Jet's corpse rose or remained dead. Albert had found the choice to stay and care for Jet over his quest for revenge painful at first. To come so close after all these decades and be forced into delay was almost more than he could bear.

The only thing that kept him here, rather than abandon Jet to the Count, was Jet's plea to not suddenly leave New York. After everything Van Bogart had done to Jet, there was no way Albert could find it in his heart to leave. He had to stop these cycles perpetuated by evil and cruelty or else his revenge was pointless.

Albert knew he would have to be the one to help Jet understand all the nuances in this dark half existence, because Jet had actually granted him his fragile trust. If Albert were to leave now; Jet may loose his ability to trust. Especially with the abuse and neglect his parents had given him on top of the violations Van Bogart had committed. Albert looked down at his clenched fist in amazement.

He let out a large sigh and admitted he needed to stay and focus on this task more than anything. Albert knew if he left Jet, he would have to adopt more apathy and move more towards the cold monster he feared becoming. He needed to stay for himself just as much as for Jet. He lit another cigarette and continued to watch the mound of New York soil.

To be continued.


	10. Chapter 10

(Let me start off by thanking everyone who has stuck with this story and has given me some nice feedback. As you see, I put up two chapters and a conclusion. I just wanted to end this story right and not in a hurry. I'm very pleased with it over all. By the way (and because I'm no plagiarizer) the phrase 'It's beyond my control' is borrowed from my _Dangerous Liaisons_ because of the similarity of the situation. You'll see when you get to it. Also, I did rely more on more of 'Legend of the Super Galaxy' towards the end, whereas, I've been drawing from manga up to this point: mainly character growth and relationships. If you have any feedback it would be appreciated because I'm going to start an original story next month NaNoWriMo style. I really want to achieve the best writing I possibly can. Thanks everyone and enjoy!)

Part Ten:

"Mr. Whiskey, please stay after class," Albert called out as the Freshmen scrambled to their next morning class. Ivan looked weary as he walked over to the foreign language instructor's desk.

Once the other students had left, Albert turned to him and asked in Russian, "You've been very circumspect about your last conversation with Jet. May I ask why you didn't tell the police everything you know? I know that you looked my phone number up on the school's computer right before his murder."

"Yes. He asked me for it, but I know you had nothing to do with harming him." Ivan's mis-matched eyes darted back and forth as he replied in his native language. "I figured his parents must have been dead by the desperation in his voice, therefore, he wanted to call you for help. He was a good judge of character. He wouldn't have asked for you unless he had a really good reason to trust you. He wasn't the type to rely on just anyone."

"So he trusted you?"

"Yes. I never told anyone when he asked for your address either."

"That explains how he wound up at my apartment. I just want to know why you have kept the secret. Don't you think the police could ask me some questions about when Jet called me?"

"No. The police found no trace of anyone on the video surveillance or in their evidence."

"You're right. I didn't think it was appropriate for a teacher to go over there. I told him to call the police."

"You don't need to overextend your lie on my behalf. I said the police found no trace of you. That doesn't mean I believe you weren't over there. I believe you got there too late to help him. The man they think killed his parents mysteriously disappeared. I'm not so sure you don't know about that," Ivan said in Russian before turning to leave the room.

"Thank you," Albert said before students started trickling in.

"I figured you made sure Jet got some justice. That's what mattered to me," Ivan affirmed and then left, letting the waiting students filter in.

* * *

Albert went to the cinder block room right after school and saw no change in the soil. His frustration ran high. The eighth day had passed. Albert still believed Jet's tenacity was going to bring him through this.

Albert paused as he emptied the used Berlin soil out of his shoes into his steamer trunk; it was worry, not frustration, that he was experiencing. The wave of guilt over this situation was stifled by movement caught in the corner of Albert's eye.

He turned back towards the mound of dirt; a wave of relief filled him as the dirt began to slide and cave in tiny pockets. He walked over and could see long, dirt encrusted fingers peaking from the soil.

"Come on, come on, Jet. You can make it," Albert whispered, touching the fingers. They were icy cold. Albert quickly took off his long trench coat as Jet started to pull himself out of the soil. Jet tumbled to the concrete floor, naked and shaky. Albert flung his trench coat over Jet and hoisted him in his arms. "I knew it."

Jet's eye stayed shut as Albert balanced the lanky teenager. "You're not heavy, but you sure are tall; that makes you awkward. Let get you cleaned up and then we can talk."

"So... fucking... cold. My stomach... hurts like hell."

"I know. I remember it. You have to listen to me and you'll feel better soon enough."

"Where are you taking me?" Jet's eyes opened. Albert couldn't miss Jet's worry and confusion.

"Just to see the Count." Jet leaned against Albert's shoulder and relaxed as he carried him towards a large service elevator.

* * *

"You are a remarkable young man," Count Saint-Germain said, looking under Jet's eyes again. "You rose with only the minimal exposure."

"I feel so lousy. Will it go away?" Jet asked. The Count stood up and patted Jet's shoulder.

"Let me talk with Albert for a minute."

Albert had watched the whole examination from his bedroom door. Jet laid on Albert's bed trembling, pale, and wrapped in a blanket. Albert walked into the hallway with the Count who gave him a rueful shake of the head as soon as they shut the door.

"You need to get him some nourishment. Not the kind you take, but some human blood. He's very close to falling into a torpor. If that happens at this stage, he could permanently die."

"I know. I need to be responsible for him."

"If you would like me to help him find someone..."

"No. I'll do it, but could you do me a favor. I'm going to take him to that hotel five blocks over that caters to our kind. Could you send some appropriate clothing and my grooming items over for Jet?"

"I'll send Roger over in two hours. Use the name 'Heinrich' and call me if he doesn't start feeling better after feeding."

The Count took his leave and Albert went back into his bedroom. Jet was now balled up, his eyes glazed over.

"You need to come with me." Albert rummaged around his own closet in annoyance. He had almost nothing Jet could wear. Finally, he found old sweat clothes and tossed them on the bed.

Jet sat up and started pulling them over his dirty skin. "It's important we get you something to eat right now and I can't take you off of Manhattan until you get stronger. It's your bad luck you were born on an island."

"Hun?"

Albert helped guide Jet towards the door with a smirk. "You'll find out soon enough."

* * *

Albert had sworn off of human blood, and for the most part, he had remained faithful to his vow. He found himself sorely tempted as he watched Jet. Albert felt one of the safer ways to for Jet to feed was to locate an escort and pay her.

It wasn't long before Albert found the hotel safe for their kind and called a service. The woman seemed leery at Albert's odd request to watch her and Jet, but she came around when he handed her his last month's salary. Albert had to make sure Jet didn't try to take too much and remained in control. The first few times had almost carried Albert away into a beast-like state, but Venus had been there to help him through it.

Jet rolled away from the dozing woman and sat up on the bed. He looked down at her with a troubled expression. "Will she be okay?"

"Yes. In reality you drank no more than a small glass of wine. She'll actually feel as though she had a very pleasurable time. She won't remember anything clearly."

Jet glared at Albert and said flatly, "I know. That's what bothers me. I mean, Van Bogart did that to me. Didn't I just do the same to her? Violate her?"

The phone rang, to Albert's relief. It was Roger with Jet's clothes. He hung up the receiver to see Jet now rested beside the woman. Albert quickly woke the groggy woman, helped her dress, and hustled her downstairs. He left her in Roger's care and took the small suitcase from the ghoul.

He went back to the room to find Jet balled up in a sheet. Albert gently shook him. Jet peered up with mild irritation.

"Time to get you cleaned up."

Jet, wrapped in the sheet, followed Albert to the door of the large, white tiled bathroom. Albert stopped Jet and gave him a direct look.

"When you go in it'll be a shock to not see your refection. You'll get used to it after a few months." Albert saw a hard resolve on Jet's face. He stood aside and watched Jet as he slowly stepped in and looked at the mirror. Shock turned into a sly smile. Albert stepped behind him, used to the sight. Nothing appeared but the bathroom, neither Jet or Albert appeared.

"Wow. So... this is real. I'm... It's just now sinking in. This isn't some dream. I just drank... from her and... now I can't see myself. This... is just... way too freaky."

"I know." Albert hoisted himself on the sink, rested his boots on the commode, and lit a cigarette. Jet reached for the knob for the shower. "No, take a bath."

"I hate baths."

"Suit yourself." Albert repressed a wicked smirk when Jet put his hand under the running shower.

Jet flinched back and shook his hand wildly. "Son of a bitch! That hurt like a mother! Why didn't you tell me?"

"You wouldn't have believed me otherwise. Maybe that'll make the impression to not touch running water. You'll learn to take baths and fill water basins if you want to wash your hands. Also, when you cross over running water by bridge you'll be very queasy. That's what I meant by telling you it was your bad luck to be born on an island."

"Aw crap... so how do I get anywhere? And wait a minute! How did you walk around daylight all this time?" Jet readjusted the water to fill the bathtub.

"You'll be tied to New York for the rest of your existence. To move away from New York or around in the daylight, you'll need to keep soil from Manhattan in the bottom of your shoes. I'll give you the details later."

Albert flicked the cigarette in the sink and turned to prepare the straight razor and foam. He heard Jet sink into water and draw the plastic curtain closed. There was nothing but the sounds of splashing water and a razor being dragged over a sharpening stone.

"I'm finished."

Albert reached for a towel and held it towards the bathtub while keeping his eyes on the straight razor. "There are a lot of things I'll tell you over the next few days. One thing I know is that we seem to get stuck in the times we come from. It's something you'll have to worry about later on." Albert felt the towel leave his grip.

He glanced over to see Jet was sitting on the edge of the tub with the towel now around his waist. "You can make a ghoul to do things for you or you can learn to do them yourself. I can shave myself without looking, but it takes practice. Your hair and nails are going to grow very slowly except when you initially die. You have a little stubble on your chin. I'll take care of that tonight and you won't have to worry about it for the next five years."

Albert paused and walked around to look at Jet's bare back. The deep scars left behind formed a pattern in the shape of feathery wings, a large 'L' in the middle. Albert came around and sat on the edge of the tub in front of Jet.

"What is it?"

"Your injuries were left."

Jet's hand flew to his stomach where there was a thick star-like pattern made of scar tissue in the middle of his stomach. "On my back too? Great. Well... I guess since I don't see it, it won't matter."

Albert reached for a mug with foam in it and paused when Jet's expression grew baffled. "What is it?"

"Why did you go ahead and save me? After all, you didn't have to try. You'd be better off if I were dead."

Albert glanced down at his ruined hands. "I wanted to stop Van Bogart from harming anyone else." Albert could see Jet's expression inexplicably sour; that caused a discomfort in Albert. He quickly channeled it into anger and gave Jet a vexed look. "You asked me to save you. Why did you want to still live?"

"Because I have so many things I need to prove."

"Why? You're free now. There is no one expecting anything of you anymore. You no longer have to live up to anyone's expectations. You're totally free to do anything with the rest of your existence. Forget what your parents wanted and even forget what Cathy wanted. You need to take some time and figure out what you want."

"That's a lot to take in."

"I know."

"So what are your plans? Now that Van Bogart is dead, you could..."

"There's still Issimo and Scar."

"But..." Jet's expression grew murderous. "What about allowing yourself the same freedom? You don't have any expectations anymore either. Let it go."

Albert glared back. "There are just some things that are unforgivable."

"You're nothing but a hypocrite!"

"Drop it!"

Albert took several deep breaths as Jet stilled himself. He shook his head and help up his razor. "Hold very still."

* * *

Albert opened his apartment door and walked in. He shook the snow off and looked over to where Jet lounged on the sofa with a book, a cigarette hung from his lips.

"Well, Christmas Break has officially started," Albert announced. Jet looked over with a smirk and put out his cigarette.

"You know I never thought I would say this, but I sure miss Saint Ann's."

"I knew you would. Everyone is doing fine, even Joe. His grades took a small dip, but he's taken responsibility for them. He's a real strong kid. He, Frances, and Ivan are going to travel to France over the holiday. One big family trip."

"That's cool about the trip, but is Joe still shaken up over what happened to me? You know... what if I go and just tell him what really happened?"

"No! Absolutely not! I've told you why."

Jet glared and jumped off the sofa. Albert gritted his teeth and prepared for a rehash of the same argument they had had over the last two weeks since Jet had taken up residence with Albert. He removed his overcoat and hat while steadying his hostility.

"I've had enough! I've read every damn book in this place and I've learned Farsi and Romanian!" Jet shouted at Albert in the first mentioned language. "I'm bored to death! How long am I going to have to sit here staring at the wallpaper?"

"You're free to go! I've taught you everything you need to survive: the water, the soil, the ghouls, and the sunlight. But... so long as you're living under my roof, you'll follow my rules! Right now I need the job at Saint Ann's. I can't risk any rumors while I'm there."

"You're nothing but a Na..."

Albert got in Jet's face and held his finger up to Jet's nose. "Think before you call me that word. You won't like what I'll do."

Jet clamped his mouth shut; his skin flushed. His eyes lowered and Albert was satisfied to see the teen look shamefaced. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think about how that word would offend you. It was something I used to call my parents all the time. I mean, Nazis seem almost like some mythical thing to people in my generation."

"What's eating you?" Albert asked, keeping a steady tone to his question.

"I haven't been outside since I rose two weeks ago. I realized today that I want to do something meaningful. My mother had a charity to help battered women and children over in the Bronx. It was nothing but shit because she and my father were just scamming money off of it. I asked myself today if it could mean something?'

'You see, Cathy grew up poor and in a household with an abusive step-father. The shelter she and her mother landed at helped them get back on their feet. I want to help kids that grew up like Cathy, in a bad situations with no hope. They need someone to protect them and give something to dream about."

"You mean kids like you too? Who's parents may be filthy rich, but they still find themselves being abused?"

Jet gave Albert a cross look , but nodded. "Here's the kick in the teeth, I don't have any money to help those women and kids. I feel so frustrated and useless because I spend my days learning more languages. The Count is now starting to teach me ones that don't even exist anymore like ancient Phoenician and Mongolian. Those will come in useful when I want to sail the South Mediterranean or meet Genghis Khan!"

Albert snicker at this point. Jet's face melted from an intense frown to a lopsided smile. "Sitting around with the Count while you're at work is fun, but he's not what I'd call exciting."

"It seems you found a direction for your existence. You would have made Cathy very proud." Albert smiled at Jet and sat on the sofa. Jet sat beside him, looking utterly exhausted.

"How about you? Are you... happy now?"

"Life with you hasn't been as smooth as I had hoped. But with such a grand dream as yours, how can I not believe I made the right choice to save you? You do know that you don't need money to help people. You're going to have to change your way of thinking."

"Yeah, I know. I'm embarrassed by it and intimidated. I want to go out there and live on the streets so I know what's needed."

"You wouldn't need to fear anyone, but there is another way. How about we enroll you in another school. A public high school. Under an assumed identity. Then you can finish with a diploma and go to college to study social work. It'll make the paper trail easier and you'll learn to help people from a position of knowledge."

"Hey! You got something there. It'll get me out of the house and I'll get closer to my goal. But what about the money to send me to college? Wait! I know, I've got to get a job."

"Woah there. Your face was just all over the news for several days not even a month ago. How about you wait until Summer to find something and just worry about finishing up your high school in the mean time."

Jet gave him a bright, sly smile and slouched on the sofa. "This is kind of exciting. A new identity, a new name. No more Link. That's huge."

Albert gave a slight cough and looked down at his indigo, left hand while he twirled his wedding band. "How about Stoller. I'm not using it any more. You don't have to... if you don't..."

"That's perfect. Thanks. I'll take it," Jet said softly.

"I'll make the arraignments and then you can go back to school at the start of January."

"Great! That'll be before my eighteenth birthday."

"You no longer have birthdays, Jet. At least we don't keep count of those sorts of things."

"You don't?" Jet's voice drenched in disappointment made Albert snicker again. "Forever seventeen?"

"We'll bend the rules in your case. I'll get you a little something and throw you a small party. No cake or your former friends, but I'll make sure to mark the occasion."

"Alright! It's February 2nd. I remember yours is October 10th from all those books. Maybe by then I can figure out what to get you, and it won't be a damn book."

A knock at the door startled Albert; he got up and opened it to see Count Saint-Germain. Albert stood aside and was about invited the Count in, but the diminutive vampire held up his elegant hand, shook his head, and said, "Thank you, as always, for your gracious hospitality, Albert, but this matter is personal. May I have a word with you in the hallway?"

"Of course, Highness." Albert turned to Jet who waved them out while picking up the book he was originally reading. Albert followed Saint-Germain into the hallway and shut the door.

"There was a breakthrough. Madeleine has found Issimo. They're now in Peru, terrorizing the natives and building a Neo-Nazi empire. She's gained Issimo's confidence, using her normal profession as an archaeologist. He is unaware that she's one of our blood."

"Excellent. How long do you think they'll be there?"

"Until July. When they lost your current companion and Van Bogart it set back their plans, but not by much. They're now planning on approaching Jet's uncle to buy Link Aviation. Uncle Giovanni won't be as attached to Link's property."

"I know. I have to stop that purchase and finally get rid of Issimo."

"My friend, this operation is much larger than Issimo. If you go and are just seeking to kill Issimo, several of our blood will be after you. They are the minority, but they are powerful."

"Are they stronger than our sect?"

"By no means, but they are something you don't want to trifle with alone. Our sect has always backed your revenge, however, be very careful before starting a war among us. It will spill over to innocent lives as war always does."

Albert sighed and would no longer meet the Count's intense gaze. "I will do as my conscience dictates, Highness. I can't do any different after all this time."

"Very well. I see you have your obstinate heart set on revenge. I take it you and Jet will leave soon?"

"Not Jet. I'm going to fly down to Peru in a couple of days after we can make the arrangements. Madeleine will take me in and I can finish this once and for all."

"What about Jet? He's only two weeks old. That's scant time for him to get his bearings. You would be remiss leaving your blood progeny at this point."

"With all due respect, Highness, I know my duties towards Jet. I accepted them willingly, but I think he needs time to find himself. He's an endless fountain of angst. I feel like I'm only a hamper to his growth. Not as one of us, but as an adult. He's tough and can make his own way in life. Besides, Issimo is a very dangerous man. Jet would only be in the way because he's still so new."

"There was hesitation at the end there. What else?"

"We aren't getting along. I've fought with him more than anyone I've ever known in my life and I've known him for a grand total of two months. It's getting very old."

"Jet has complained of the same thing."

"Figures he's a big gossip. Please do me the favor of keeping our conversation a secret. Jet doesn't know I'm serious about tracking down Issimo."

"He's a very bright boy. He suspects it and has been questioning me."

"Figures he's also a big snoop. Thank you for everything, but I really have to get to Peru."

The Count nodded and gave Albert a slight, disapproving frown. "It will be as you wish. I'll call Madeline and tell her to expect you on Saturday."

Albert felt a surge of excitement in the pit of stomach as he went back inside his apartment. He paused seeing Jet lace up his red Doctor Marten boots. Albert didn't miss that Jet was dressed up, in a manner of speaking; Albert thought he looked more 'punk' than usual with chains dangling around his hips and neck and a long sleeved, tee-shirt advertising a band named 'Crass.'

"What's the occasion?"

"I'm going out for some dinning. I'm at my limit."

"I know, but do you know where you'll find someone? Let me take you to the zoo and I'll show you how to survive."

Jet jumped up after tying his boots and crossed his arms. "You can survive if you want to, but I want to live."

Albert's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that you may have hangups about being a vampire, but I don't anymore. I know there was nothing I could have done to stop Van Bogart so I'm not going to beat myself up any more. Vampires! It's what we are. I'm getting tired of all your euphemisms about it so why don't you come with me?"

Albert crossed his arms and looked down at his winged tipped shoes and the crisp cuffs on his gray slacks. "I don't think what you have in mind would be a good idea."

"Maybe if you get over your past you can accept what you are and find a smidgen of happiness. So come on. Let's go have some dinner. You don't want me to pull out the you-never-take-me-anywhere nag, do you?"

Albert gave Jet a dirty look while receiving a mischievous smile. Albert grabbed his overcoat and hat; he made sure he had his wallet and keys before waving Jet out of his apartment.

To be continued.


	11. Chapter 11

Part Eleven:

Jet flicked his cigarette at the ashtray, turned around, and smiled at Albert who was hunched over a scotch at the bar. Albert had ordered it for appearance's sake. Jet didn't bother to talk to Albert or sit beside the scowling German. He didn't want to trip off another argument, especially since he was able to draw Albert out of the Needle.

Instead, Jet kept his eyes on the dance floor as the music pounded. Jet was glad when a slightly older guy came up and asked if he could buy him a drink. Jet gave Albert a raised eyebrow; Albert shrugged and continued to play with the ice cubes in his drink.

"Is that your boyfriend?" the guy shouted over the techno music as they drifted away from Albert.

"No, just an annoying relative from Germany. Don't worry about him," Jet shouted back as their drinks were served. He felt his pulse thud painfully in his neck as he remembered the last time he was at a club with Joe, Frances, and Helen.

He would have never had the guts to let a guy hit on him with Joe around. Joe would probably have been understanding, but Jet had never felt like taking that chance. Plus, if word would have ever gotten back to his parents, his father would have beaten him within an inch of his life. Now there was freedom to do as he pleased without worries. He could chose to be with any girl or guy he wanted; it was an exhilarating power trip.

There was some minor chit-chat before Jet pulled the guy over toward a dark alcove. It wasn't long before Jet and his unknown pick-up were making out. This person was anonymous and it tripped off the same thrill that he had gotten with Van Bogart's encounters. Jet repressed a flutter of panic before moving his lips to the man's throat. Warm metallic, taste was the only thing in his consciousness.

The man moaned and hugged Jet closer to him as they slumped against the alcove wall. Jet removed his mouth from the man's throat and took a step back. Jet watched him sink to the floor in a daze.

"Looks like you got carried away. They'll just think he drank too much."

Jet swirled to see Albert, leaning against the entrance to the alcove. There was something in the man's bright, blue eyes Jet hadn't seen before. He was confused until Albert closed the space between them and wrapped his arms around Jet's narrow waist.

"You have some on your chin." Albert then slowly placed a kiss on the corner of Jet's mouth. Jet couldn't help but moan and throw his hands behind him for support against the wall. Albert's lips grew more insistent along his jaw line. Albert finally pressed a kiss against Jet's lips that made his head spin.

Jet suddenly pushed Albert back slightly. "What the hell is happening? I thought you were into women?"

"This is the second time I've watched you. Both times I though I was just craving human blood again. It just hit me that I keep thinking back to that moment I took your life. I want_ your_ blood again, but it's a very large taboo among our kind. I'm never to have you again, and it's maddening."

"Who's going to know? Besides, I know what it's like to want what you're not supposed to have. That and... you're such a turn on right. The naughty school teacher and the wayward student? It's too good to not play out."

A pall came to Albert's face over the lustful expression. He shook his head and said, "I don't want you use you because I'm lonely."

"That's the best reason to get together. You don't have to live like some monk to honor her."

"I know and I haven't been entirely. It's mainly the ghoul, Venus, that helped me escape that's bothering me right now. I used her and treated her very badly. I don't want to do the same to you."

"Come on. Let's just think about us tonight." Jet bit his bottom lip in hope until Albert took his hand and pulled him towards the doorway. Jet couldn't help but smile when they hit the snowy, dark night.

* * *

Jet slid over the bed closer to Albert; he rested his head on Albert's outstretched arm while they both struggled to catch their breath. Faint pinkish sweat covered both of them. He drew the sheets over them and threw his arm across Albert's stomach.

Jet couldn't repress the self-satisfied curl to his lips as he enjoyed his dizzy, sated feeling from the blood-letting and love-making. Albert drew him closer and then started chuckling out of nowhere.

Jet propped up on his elbow as his face grew hot. He glared down at the German man and asked, "What the hell is so funny?"

"It's not you. I had a very good friend named Becker. I was just trying to imagine what he would say about this whole situation." Jet gave Albert a baffled look. "He was someone I met at Auschwitz. I think he is having a very good laugh at me from the afterlife right at this moment."

Jet smirked and settled back into Albert's arms. "It's still kind of unreal hearing you talk about that place. Was it really that horrible?"

Albert held Jet tighter. "It was a more horrible than you could ever imagine. It was an abomination spat up from hell. The eight months I spent there seemed like a grinding eternity, another life. You have to put aside what makes you a human and play these elaborate games. It makes a permanent mark on your soul. There is no erasing that kind of atrocity exhibition from a mind."

Jet was silent. There was nothing he could say to comfort Albert even though he desperately wanted to. The fact that he couldn't offer any peace to Albert created a gnawing sensation in the pit of Jet's stomach. It was the realization that he could easily lose Albert to the pursuit of revenge. It made Jet Jet fidgety, he felt the need to protected himself.

Jet slowly sat up, untangling himself from Albert's arms while the man gave him a baffled look. "Um... I'll let you get some sleep."

"Where are you going? After everything we just did, I think I tolerate you in bed."

"But..." Jet's hand went to the plain gold band dangling from the chain around Albert's neck.

Albert cupped Jet's chin and turned his head so their eyes met. "No. We'll worry about it tomorrow. I need you with me tonight." Jet slowly drifted back into Albert's arms; he pushed his worry aside and relaxed again.

"Please, just promise you won't leave New York without me."

"I can only promise I'll do what I believe is in your best interest." Albert gently ran his fingertips down Jet's arm. It wasn't long before Jet drifted off into a deep sleep.

* * *

Jet woke and noticed he was alone in Albert's bed. He pulled on his jeans and slipped out into the dark, silent apartment. The front door was propped open; Jet saw the Count and Albert talking out in the main hallway.

He overheard Albert say, "Things have changed. I just can't go to Peru right now. Maybe late February."

"Your heart isn't as obstinate as I had thought. It's Jet, isn't it?"

"I haven't given up finding Issimo. I just need another month to make sure Jet's settled into this life."

"As you wish."

Jet turned and tip-toed back to Albert's bed. He quickly snuggled under two blankets. A wave of relief washed over him. Jet figured he had a month to convince Albert to stay with him; he felt confident it could happen. After all, he never would have thought Albert would have opened up this much. Jet figured he would just have to be more persistent.

* * *

"Let's see what we have... Jet Stoller... Senior... starting today on January third.... and this is your schedule. Just let your teachers see it and we'll try to get you some books tomorrow along with your id card. Also, have your parents fill this out."

"I just have a guardian. I moved from Vermont because my parents died last month in a car accident," Jet said, readjusting his backpack over his shoulder.

"Oh, my!" The heavy-set woman gave Jet a pitying look. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Well, have your guardian sign those forms."

"No problem." Jet took the papers off the counter and left to the hallways. Things were radically different from Saint Ann's. The atmosphere had an oppressive feel. The students were dressed any way they pleased and the hallways were packed and noisy.

Jet pushed his orange tinted glasses up on his nose and passed through a set of metal detectors. He noticed security guards as he walked into his classroom. Half the students gave him curious glances or glares; the rest ignored him.

He picked a desk, crossed his arms, and set his face into a frown. He frowned even more as the students continued to socialize when the teacher came in the classroom and tried to lecture to the apathetic teenagers. Jet got out paper and pencil; he did his best of focus in spite of the din.

* * *

"Boy, I really miss Saint Ann's." Jet tossed his backpack aside and flopped on the sofa beside Albert.

"Was that your first time at a public school?"

"Yeah. It's pretty depressing. The teachers are either worn out or don't care. The books suck and it feels like you're in jail. I hate it. It makes me even more certain that I've made the right choice to get into social work."

"Excellent. Did you feel uncomfortable moving around during the daylight?"

"Some, but I'll get used to it."

"Joe and the others got back okay. They seemed well rested, but still somber. They got angry when I gave them all homework on their first day back."

Jet snickered. "On second thought, I may like public school just fine. I have no homework tonight so I thought I would go out for a bite."

Albert's face puckered. "Must you make juvenile jokes like that?"

Jet snuggled closer and loosened Albert's tie. "Aw come on join me."

"I really shouldn't, but I want to spend time with you right now while we have it."

"What do you mean by that? Are you planning to go anywhere? I notice the Count has been pretty busy lately." Jet's eyes narrowed.

"Let's enjoy our time together." Suddenly Albert grabbed Jet's hands and yanked him off the sofa as he stood. "Let's get out of here and enjoy the night."

"Fine!" Jet went along after suppressing some aggravation.

* * *

Jet set down his pencil, notebook paper, and the _Calculus- One and Several Variables with Analytical Geometry _by Salas and Hille. He sneered at the book from 1978 and shook his head in disgust. Albert walked in and shut the door, interrupting Jet's irritation. Jet just about greeted Albert, but was concerned to see the troubled look.

"What's wrong, Al?"

"There is some news I have to tell you." Albert walked over and took a seat beside him. "I have something for your birthday."

"Save it. It's only two more days." Panic flared up in Jet's stomach.

"I have to give it to you now. Here."

Jet opened the thick envelope Albert handed to him. He saw the lease for Albert's apartment along with a bank ledger. Both were signed over to 'Jet Andrew Stoller.' Jet set them on the coffee table.

"So this means you're leaving without me? After you promised?"

"I promised to do what I think is best for you. Things are beyond my control."

"You planned this all along! You never meant to stay with me!"

"That's not entirely true. I was thinking about it, but something happened this afternoon that changed my mind."

"So you're going down to South America to chase after Issimo? After all this time? What the hell are you thinking, you selfish bastard!"

"It's beyond my control," Albert answered simply. He got up and walked to his bedroom.

"Is that all you have to say to me?"

"For now."

"Damn it! You owe me a fucking explanation!"

Albert packed a small suitcase. He avoided looking Jet in the eye. Jet clenched his hands into fists. "It's your wife! You can't let her go after all this time because you're too afraid to live again. She certainly is a convenient excuse for you to run away from me!"

Albert didn't answer, but his jaw clenched. The German man slammed the suitcase and turned to leave. "Wait! What about Saint Ann's?"

"I told Gilmore I needed to go back to Berlin because my father is dying. I'll call him in a few days and tell him I'm not coming back. It won't be suspicious that way."

"Then take me with you!"

"No. You have to stay here because there are things beyond my control."

"Stop saying that! You're being so fucking condescending! I'm not some dumb kid you can screw and toss away. You told me to make my own choices and then you decide to treat me like my parents! You can't do that! Take me with you!"

Jet's fists ached as they trembled. Albert's face turned red, the man's eyes narrowed. "It's beyond my control."

With that Albert turned and grabbed the door knob. "I promise to come back for you one day."

"If you walk out of that door, don't bother. I never want to see you again," Jet said softly, his stomach churning.

Albert took a deep breath, he hesitated for half a minute, and then yanked the door open. He didn't give Jet a second glance after he walked out. Albert shut the door. Jet grabbed a lamp on the coffee table and hurled it at the door. After it smashed, Jet sank to his knees and fought back his bitter tears.

* * *

"Hello, Harold," Jet greeted the ghoul at the front door of the Needle. Jet had now gotten to know the ghoul that had denied him entrance during the daylight hours to the Needle a few months.

"Hello, Mr. Stoller. Good day at school?" Harold pulled opened the tinted glass door. Jet regretted his choice in an assumed name, but he was stuck with it.

"There was a stabbing at lunch. Other than that, everything went well."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir. You do have some mail at the front desk. Also, the Count has requested you visit him at your next convenience."

Jet nodded. He went to the front lobby where two large envelopes rested on the counter. He picked up the first one and was pleased to see it was his acceptance letter to college; the same one Cathy had graduated from. He then looked at the post mark of the next one: Lima, Peru. The handwriting was Albert's.

Jet jogged over to his apartment and locked himself in before he ripped open the letter. He hadn't heard a word from Albert in a month. In that time anger had dulled into a hollow ache. He gave a sad smile to see the letter written in the German language.

_Dear Jet,_

_I'm staying at Madeline's dig sight and am safe. You were right, I do owe you an explanation. I wanted to do the right thing for the both of us. I know now that I did._

_Yes, I'm here to rid the world of Issimo. You are right about that. You were also right to believe I'm doing it for Hilda's memory. I'm also doing it to rid the world of a great evil that's been festering for decades, one that could endanger every human life in Europe. A new Holocaust could emerge and that must take priority over everything. _

_I knew then that Issimo had to be stopped. The day I left I found out that Issimo had been slowly creating ghouls out of influential politicians and wealthy businessmen. One of them was your Uncle Giovanni. _

_We can never live our lives in peace until he's dead. I will never be free until Issimo is gone, not in my mind or my heart. It's just something you have to accept. I do promise I will come back for you. I don't know how long it will take, but I will keep you informed._

_Yours,_

_Albert_

Jet stood up and took the letter with him as he walked down the hallways towards Count Saint-Germain's apartment. Roger let him into a sitting parlor and the Count joined him shortly.

"I'm glad to see you, Jet," the older vampire greeted in Romanian.

"I got a letter from Albert today. Did you know about all this?" Jet asked back in the same language.

"Yes. I told him he should finish it and leave you here."

"But..."

The man held up a hand. "Please understand, you are a part of our sect. You are still weak and in need of protection. Issimo could use you to harm us and that can't be allowed. The day Albert left he had found out that Scar had come back to New York to kidnap you on Issimo's behalf. Albert was incensed that Issimo would take you and use you as a pawn. He killed Scar and decided the best way to protect you was to go after Issimo and end it."

Jet smacked a fist into his palm and glared. "I just can't let Albert face all that danger alone. I hate this! I need to do something!"

"Get stronger," the Count said with a smile as he held up an envelope. Jet gave it a curious glance as his wrath at Albert drained, leaving sorrow. "Inside are tickets to tonight's opera. I'm taking you with me so I can introduce you to some very powerful people. You have a personalty that's very strong and can put people off or attract them to your cause. You need to develop that and create a network of people you can rely on."

"Oh. Kind of the same thing my parents did."

"Yes, only this can be used for good. Imagine if all that money your mother raised really went to those abused women and children."

"I know. It would have really added up."

"Also, all of my books. You've only scratched the surface. You need to gain more knowledge and develop the protean skills I know that are within your grasp. Albert can never use it because of his aversion to being a vampire, but you have no such qualms. Take your time to study and hone your skills."

Jet gave the Count a lopsided smile. "I'm not a very patient person."

"Contemplate this, your goal of helping the abused is vital to Albert. He needs to know he is fighting to protected something noble. That would be your dreams. The man has none of his own right now. When he's finished with his necessary revenge, he'll realize how empty he is and he will need to be filled again. Don't deny him that or he will turn into the type of monster all of us vampires truly fear becoming."

All Jet could do was nod as his face flushed. Saint-Germain gave him a warm grin and said, "I used to have a worse tempter than you, my young friend. Tranquility is something you can master like I have."

Jet burst out laughing. "I doubt it, but I think I can try. For Albert's sake."

"I hoped you would say that. Please go get dressed in your finest clothes and dredge up all those things your parents taught you that you never wanted to learn. You'll be surprised at all the good you can do with some well-placed words."

To be continued.


	12. Conclusion

Conclusion:

[Seven Years Later]

Jet blew a whistle and waved a red faced, ten-year-old off the indoor basketball court. The kid looked up at Jet with a pout and hostility when he got to the bleachers Jet was draped over. Jet set aside the massive paperwork for a government grant and shook his head. He was trying his best to keep from snickering at the child.

"Jimmy, what did I tell you about annoying the older kids? They'll start tossing you in the hoops and then I'll be the one that has to pick you out. Why not play with the kids your age? They're over there painting."

"They're all girls! I don't want to play with girls!"

"I know. It sucks right now."

"How long do I gotta stay here? I hate it."

"I know, kiddo, but right now I can't let you go outside. On the good side, I'm trying to find you a foster home so you have a place to run around. Just give me another week and hopefully we'll get a space for you."

The child looked as though he were moments away from tears. "Aw, Jimmy, it'll be okay. Remember me telling you the story about Ann Frank?"

"Yeah, kinda."

"She was in hiding too and she was so brave. All during the days she and her family would have to be so quiet and just lay still in an attic. Even at night they couldn't make any noise. You see, you're in hiding too. Right now we can't make any noise."

"Cuz of my dad?"

Jet gave Jimmy a worried frown. "Afraid so, kiddo. He has a lot of problems right now and needs to stop drinking before you can go back."

"I don't want to go back to my dad." Jimmy started to tremble. Jet made room for the child to sit next to him. "Tell me more about that big war you always read about."

"I'd love too, but I got to get some of this paperwork done so I can get money to run this place."

"Why is this place called 'Cathy's House' anyway?"

"Because it's named after my favorite teacher I had in high school."

"I think I'm offended by that remark." Jet recognized the German language instantly. He jumped up and saw Albert Heinrich wearing a trench coat and blue tinted glasses. He was too stunned to do anything.

"What the...." Jet mumbled in disbelief.

A surge of joy welled up inside of Jet as he ran over to Albert. They quickly embrace and Jet grabbed the front of Albert's shirt while the German man gave him a smug smirk.

"You're here! I can't believe it. I haven't heard from you in months. I was about to hop a plane to Barcelona to make sure you were fine."

"Jet? Who's he?" Jimmy asked after jogging up to them. Jet laughed and patted Jimmy's head.

"This is a very close friend of mine named Albert Heinrich. Albert, this is Jimmy. He's been stuck here for a while. Hiding out. Kind of like a secret agent. Right, kiddo?"

"Yeah!" Jimmy chirped.

"Listen, Jimmy, why don't you go get a soda while I talk to Mr. Heinrich?"

"Okay." Jet smirked at Jimmy's disgruntlement. He handed the child a dollar and gently pushed him towards the drink machines on the other side of the gym.

"Quite impressive. This is a very nice facility. I can see you've been working very hard."

"Yeah, well, money doesn't grow on trees. Or so I found out the hard way."

Albert grabbed the laminate security pass around Jet's neck and shook his head. "Jet Stoller. I see you've kept it."

"Well... I didn't have much choice," Jet worked up his best sarcastic tone for the lie and grabbed it away. He'd sooner die than admit he now kept the name for a connection between them.

Albert laughed and shook his head. "It's just your letters. Your descriptions were so vivid I could picture myself here." There was a long awkward pause where Jet couldn't think of anything to say. All he could do was enjoy the sight of Albert after seven years. Finally, Albert's tension laden question, "How have you been?"

"Really great. We've done some good in the Bronx. As a matter of fact, you'll get a laugh to know I just bought my mother's old domestic violence shelter and did some needed repairs to the building. Those women aren't living with a roof about to cave in on them any more."

"Really? It seems like you have found a money tree."

"Just a lot of hobnobbing a Senator and two Wall Street executives. But you didn't really come to ask about all of that, did you?"

"Not really. I want to know about you."

"Let's go up to the roof. It's about dusk" Jet said, putting on his orange glasses. He lead Albert towards a set of stairs. They climbed upwards until they came to a thick metal door that Jet unlocked. They climbed out into the chilly April air and walked over to the ledge that overlooked a small, parking lot.

"So... does this mean you've given up on Issimo?"

"I caught up with him last December. He's no longer able to harm anyone."

"I thought you would have written me about something that large."

"After I killed him in Barcelona I flew to Berlin. I stayed there for a few months and then I made a trip to Auschwitz. I came to some closure and am settled over the past. That's why I didn't write you."

Jet glanced at the open collar at Albert's neck. There was no longer a gold chain around it. "You're free?"

Albert removed his left glove and held out his indigo colored hand. There was no more plain, gold band around the ring finger. "I will always have a place in my heart where my wife dwells, but I can move on and see a future ahead of me now. I buried the wedding bands in her favorite park in Berlin. That's her grave, not my mind anymore."

Jet was silent. He lit a cigarette and leaned forward, his elbows on the ledge above the lot that was bathed in long shadows. Albert followed suit.

"You've changed since I knew you. You seem more at peace, too," Albert observed.

"There is a part of me that isn't settled. Overall, I have a lot of things that keep me busy."

"It's been a long time and I didn't know how you would react towards me."

"The Count told me a long time ago why you left me. You couldn't stand another person you cared for dying so you left. That's why I decided to write you when you started sending me letters five years ago. You've suffered enough and I missed you. I'm still angry that you didn't tell me Scar almost kidnapped me. You should have trusted me a little more than that."

"I did make a mistake. I wished I would have told you so you could have kept alert. I worried about you every day for years. I'm still glad I didn't take you with me."

"What!" Jet's temper flared up, he glared at Albert's gentle smile.

"You had became too much of a distraction for me. I couldn't have resolved any of my past issues with you around. I know that if we would have continued our relationship at the time, it would have crumbled into petty arguments and then hatred. Now we have a fair chance."

Jet was quiet for a moment while his mind tried to put together the implication. "So... are you trying to ask me if we can start over again?"

"I know you've changed some by the letters I've received. I can also tell your feelings for me have changed from a youthful craving into something much deeper. So have my feelings. I haven't stopped thinking about you and wanting."

Jet nodded and said, "The nice thing about vampires are that time can stand still for us. It makes it easier to pick up where we left off."

"I'm glad to hear that because I have your belated graduation gift right here. I figured, since you earned a Masters degree, you deserve this." Albert reached in his coat and removed two plane tickets to Rome, Italy. Jet looked at them and saw their flight would leave in two week and they would be staying a month.

"I haven't been in a long time. I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll go with me and show me around."

"Don't doubt it."

"Also, this will be more than a pleasure trip. One of the things I've learned is that you can pursue your revenge and chop the head off the dragon. Only... a new one will appear. Another vampire named Tammara has taken Issimo's place. Count Saint-Germain believes we'll work well together in rooting her out."

"I see why he asked me to start preparing to leave Cathy's House in my assistant's charge. Well, I'm ready for it."

"I know. Well... then. Let me take you out for a bite and then we can go back to the Needle and get to know one another again."

"Hey now! I remember you chewing me out for the same tasteless comment."

Albert ground out his cigarette and smiled. "I've changed some too."

Jet smiled back and threw his arms around Albert's neck. "All for the better, I see."

END.


End file.
